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surielstea · 7 months ago

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Camping Affairs

Kinktober day 4: Size + Hair pulling

Pairing: Lorcan Salvaterre x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader and Lorcan have to share a tent and can’t find sleep, they find other ways to exhaust themselves.

A. Note: I’m so sorry this is late, it didn’t post when I scheduled it for some reason 😭😭, anywho, this is made specifically for the lovely @lexluvswriting because I’m simply here to feed her Lorcan obsession 🫶

6.9k words.

"You know, for being Maeve's pride and joys you'd think we'd be given better accommodations," I say as I lay out my bedroll, the tent Her Majesty supplied us with so small it was almost comical.

"We're warriors, not royalty," Lorcan grumbled from the outside of the canvas, giving me some privacy as I stripped from my leathers and into a nightgown.

"Speak for yourself," I scoffed, poking my head out of the flaps to look up at him. "Rowan is a prince," I say matter-of-factly. "Perhaps he could pull some strings and get us all our own tent," I suggest and he looks at me with that sneering expression he always wore.

"We've battled in wars, I think you can manage," He grumbled, motioning with his hand for me to recede back into the tent. I frowned but backed up and sidled onto my bedroll. I tried not to laugh at the sight of the seven-foot demi-fae crouching to stop his head from hitting the ceiling of the tent.

He gave me a glare that I assume was meant to intimidate me but it didn't affect me much when he had to walk on his knees in order to settle on his own bedroll.

All seven of Maeve's blood sworn were called to meet with her in Doranelle, something about the Lost Princess of Terrasan— I wasn't really listening when Rowan was briefing us, all I knew was that I was going to have to pack my life up for the crazed queen I was sworn to, again, and take the week hike away from my comfy home in Varese.

With only three tents, the seven of us were split into pairs. Two per tent, and one on watch outside. Gavriel had posed a system to put the smallest and the largest together, as to avoid uncomfortably in the tents— and I hadn't thought it would be a problem until now. Shoulder to shoulder, with my least favorite of the group.

"Why do you have to be built like a damned giant," I grumble as I shift away from him, the side of me pressing into the wall of the tent. I could've shifted onto my side and separated us a little further— but that would mean I'd have to face him, and at this proximity, I doubt it would be comfortable for either of us.

"Would you rather join Rowan and Fenrys?" Lorcan grumbles, sounding like he was talking in my ear he was so close. I smirk at the idea.

"Can't say I'd be displeased in the middle of that," I purr.

Lorcan sighs, muttering a string of curses, too low to make out. "You're insufferable." He decided on voicing.

"And yet, here we are, stuck with each other," I teased, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. "Don't pretend you don't love it."

He snorts. "I could think of better ways to spend my time."

"Oh?" I hum, turning toward him a little more, my cheek propped on my hand. "What would Lorcan Salvaterre rather be doing right now, instead of sharing a tent with yours truly?"

He shoots me a look, dark and brooding, but his lips twitch. "Not listening to you, for starters."

I roll my eyes. "If you weren't so quiet all the time, maybe I wouldn't have to fill the silence."

"There's silence because I'm trying to sleep," he retorts, though his tone is lighter, almost playful—at least, as playful as Lorcan ever gets.

I scoff, grinning. "Please, you never sleep. You just brood all night like some menacing statue."

"You should be grateful," he says, adjusting his position, his shoulder now brushing against mine. "At least I keep the monsters away."

"Monsters?" I snort. "The only thing I'm afraid of in this tent is your enormous leg crushing me in my sleep."

"You talk too much," Lorcan grumbles, though there's the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"I talk just enough to drive you insane," I shoot back, feeling a strange sense of victory at the idea of getting under his skin. "It's one of my many talents," I add, worsening the blow.

He doesn't respond, but his silence feels different this time. Like he's deciding whether to engage or just strangle me.

"If you're so miserable," I start, stifling a yawn, "you ought to throw me outside and have the whole tent to yourself," I utter, lifting my arms up over my head and stretching out to the best of my abilities.

"Don't tempt me," he grunts, though I don't miss the way his eyes follow me as I stretch, my movements exaggerated just to annoy him.

"You wouldn't know what to do with yourself," I murmur, settling back down. "Without me to keep you company."

"Go to sleep," he says, ignoring my words.

I smirk up at the stars. "Sweet dreams, Salvaterre."

His grumble is the only reply I get, but for some reason, the sound makes me smile.

The silence stretches on for a few minutes, and I do my best to settle in, but there's no ignoring the cramped space and the sheer presence of Lorcan taking up most of it. After a few more minutes of tossing and turning, I sigh dramatically.

"I can't sleep," I announced, knowing he was still wide awake.

From beside me, Lorcan groans, clearly exasperated. "Of course, you can't," he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, rolling onto my side to face him, our faces just inches apart in the dim light.

"That you're incapable of quieting down for more than a minute," he grumbles, not even bothering to open his eyes.

"I've been quiet for at least five minutes!" I argue, though I can't help the grin tugging at my lips. "And anyway, it's your fault. You're hogging all the space."

He cracks an eye open, giving me a flat look. "You take up about as much room as a pillow. You have plenty of space."

"Then why can't I get comfortable?" I huff, shifting again, this time letting my arm bump against his on purpose.

"You're sleeping with the wolves tonight." He says like it’s a promise.

I gasp dramatically, my hand flying to my chest. "Lorcan Salvaterre, you would abandon me to the creatures of the night? Leave me defenseless and cold?"

"You're hardly defenseless," he says, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I grin, triumphant. "I knew it—you do care."

"Care? I just don't want to explain to Maeve why I let you get eaten by a wyvern," he grumbles, turning onto his side so his back is to me.

I roll my eyes, inching closer just to annoy him. "You'd miss me," I murmur, as if it was an absent thought.

"Like a hole in my head."

I poke him between the shoulder blades. "Liar. You'd be lost without me. Who else would keep you entertained on these long, miserable missions?"

He doesn't respond right away, but I don't miss the way his shoulders tense at my words. "You're assuming I need entertainment."

"You're assuming you don't," I tease, leaning in until my chin is nearly resting on his arm. "Deep down, I know you love it. My sparkling wit, my endless charm—"

He turns so quickly that I almost tumble backward, his face suddenly centimeters from mine. His dark eyes glint with something that makes my heart skip a beat. "You're lucky I don't actually throw you out of this tent."

I blink up at him, trying to ignore the way my pulse races at the proximity. "You'd never."

His eyebrow raises. "You willing to bet?"

I raise mine right back, leaning in just a fraction more.

"I do." There's a brief moment where neither of us moves, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. Then, with a long-suffering sigh, Lorcan rolls his eyes and collapses back onto his bedroll.

"You're impossible," he mutters, covering his face with his arm. "Go to sleep before I do actually throw you out."

I smirk, victory swelling in my chest. "Admit it—you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

"If I admit it, will you shut up?"

"I'll think about it," I hum, settling back into my bedroll, feeling way more pleased with myself than I should.

"Fine," he growls. "I'd be bored."

I can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "See? Was that so hard?"

Lorcan groans again, louder this time. "It was unbearable."

"Goodnight, Lorcan," I say sweetly, curling up and closing my eyes, but I'm still grinning like an idiot.

From beside me, I hear a quiet mutter, almost too soft to catch. "Goodnight."

We lay there in silence for a few minutes, but as usual, my mind refused to settle. The darkness outside the tent feels suffocating, the air thick with anticipation of the mission ahead. I chew my bottom lip, turning over a dozen questions in my head before finally blurting out the one that's been nagging me all night.

"What do you think Maeve wants from us?"

Lorcan's groan is immediate. "You said you'd shut up," he grumbles, not even opening his eyes.

"I said I'd think about it, Salvaterre," I correct, nudging him with my elbow. "Besides, I can't sleep when you keep kicking me."

He huffs out a breath, lifting his arm from his eyes to glare at me. "I haven't moved an inch."

"Oh, really?" I feign innocence, shifting my foot to gently nudge his leg. "What do you call this?"

"That," he says flatly, "is you kicking me."

"I'm just showing you what it feels like," I shoot back, smirking as I prod his shin again.

"Stop that," he growls.

"I will when you answer my question."

"You should be more worried about surviving the week without me strangling you."

I huff, my face burning, but the silence that follows is heavier now—charged with the tension that neither of us wants to acknowledge. After a beat, I clear my throat, breaking it.

"You still didn't answer my question."

He sighs, long and dramatic. "How should I know? Probably some power play involving the Princess."

"Do you think they’ll ally?" I ask, though I know I'm pushing my luck.

He hesitates, his gaze flicking toward the tent's ceiling. "I don’t know," he admits. "Or she might just want us to deal with something different entirely. Maeve doesn't summon all of us for nothing."

I nod, feeling a shiver run through me. "I just hope we don't end up with another war on our hands."

Lorcan shifts slightly, his massive form somehow taking up even more space. "If we do, I'll be sure to shove you out in front to make use of all that 'charm' you keep going on about."

I roll my eyes, kicking him lightly under the blanket. "You're the worst."

He opens one eye to glance at me, unamused. "If I kill you in your sleep, it's your fault."

"Please," I scoff, sitting up slightly. "You couldn't strangle me even if you tried. I'd have you pinned in a heartbeat."

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, one that's more amused than I expected. "You? Pin me?"

I raise an eyebrow, refusing to back down. "You'd be surprised."

He tilts his head slightly, considering me with a dark glint in his eyes. "Go on, then. Prove it."

I blink, caught off guard by the challenge. "What, right now?"

He shrugs, the movement sending a ripple through his broad shoulders. "Unless you're too scared."

I narrow my eyes, inching closer. "I'm not scared."

His lips twitch, just barely, but enough to make my heart pound in my chest. "Then do it."

Before I can talk myself out of it, I shift, moving to straddle his waist. "Okay," I say, though my voice sounds much shakier than I intended. "See? You're completely at my mercy now."

Lorcan, infuriatingly, doesn't look remotely concerned. He just stares up at me, one eyebrow raised, as if waiting for something more. "That's it?"

"Well, I—" I start, but he interrupts by effortlessly grabbing my wrists in one of his massive hands and flipping me over before I can even process what's happening.

In the blink of an eye, I'm pinned beneath him, my back pressing into the bedroll as his weight holds me in place. His face hovers inches above mine, dark and unreadable, though I swear there's a flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"I think that's what you were trying to do," he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but with a playful edge.

I glare up at him, trying to squirm, but he doesn't budge. "You cheated."

He leans in slightly, his breath brushing against my cheek. "You didn't give me much of a challenge."

"You're such a brute," I snap, though I'm more frustrated with myself for falling right into his trap.

"I can't believe I made Whitethorn train you instead, this is delightful."

"Oh please, you just forgot the feel of a woman beneath you."

"Care to remind me what I've been missing?" His smirk widens, daring me to say more.

"Depends, what do I get in return?"

"A lesson, maybe I'll teach you what it's like to be beneath someone who knows how to be in control."

His words hang in the air between us, and my breath catches, the challenge in his voice igniting something deep within me. I try to maintain my composure, but the way his dark eyes lock onto mine makes it difficult. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes my heart race, a spark of something primal that sends shivers down my spine.

"Is that so?" I reply, my voice teasing yet laced with curiosity. "And just how do you plan to do that?"

"A demonstration," he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath warms my skin, his lips hovering tantalizingly above mine.

The space between us crackles with tension, my heart pounding in my chest as I hold his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation. Instead, I find determination mixed with that devil-may-care amusement that is so quintessentially Lorcan. It drives me wild.

"Show me, then," I challenge, emboldened by the heat of the moment.

A slow smile spreads across his face, and before I can brace myself, he captures my wrists in his powerful hands and shifts, pinning them above my head against the soft canvas of the tent. My breath hitches at the sudden thrill of being completely at his mercy, the weight of his body pressing me into the bedroll, a heady mix of vulnerability and exhilaration flooding my senses.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, his voice low, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of seriousness that sends a thrill racing through me.

"Do I have a choice?" I reply, trying to sound defiant but feeling the flush of excitement creeping up my neck.

"Good answer," he says, leaning down, his lips barely brushing against mine, teasingly close yet just out of reach. The warmth of his breath sends tingles across my skin, and I can't resist the urge to lean in, desperate for that connection.

"Stop teasing," I whisper my heart racing, the air thick with unspoken tension. "Just kiss me already."

With a low growl of approval, he closes the distance, capturing my lips with his in a fierce, passionate kiss. It's electric, a jolt that sends sparks dancing along my nerves, igniting every inch of my skin. The kiss deepens, and I lose myself in the taste of him—warm and intoxicating.

His lips move against mine with a hungry urgency, coaxing me into the rhythm of it. I respond instinctively, wrapping my arms around the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, urging him on. The world outside the tent fades away, leaving only the two of us, entangled in the heat of the moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressing into mine, the way his strength envelops me, sending a rush of desire coursing through my veins. It's overwhelming and intoxicating, igniting a fire within me that I didn't know was there.

I part my legs and he adjusts, slotting between them— gods it was an effort for my legs to even widen enough. He grabbed my thigh in one of his large hands and guided it up higher, then the other, until I was in a mating press beneath him. He smirked against my lips, his hands moving to trail up my sides. "Now you're really at my mercy," He purred and my core thrummed in anticipation.

"Lorcan," I panted into his open mouth, unable to find the words to tell him how badly I needed this.

"As much as I love the sound of you moaning my name, I need you to stay quiet for me, yeah?" He asked and I sucked in a breath, nodding all too quickly, too desperately.

He smirked at the reaction and captured my lips with his yet again, devouring me as he pried my mouth open with his tongue, exploring me with it, not missing a spot uncovered.

I tugged at the waistband of his pants and he captured my wrist before I could tug them down much further. "Not yet, I need to stretch you out first," He warned, his tone brooking no argument.

I let out a soft whimper of protest and he pressed his mouth onto mine, his voice softening as he said, "I don't want to hurt you, be patient for me and I promise I'll make you feel good alright?" He reassured me, his thumb brushing over the pulse point of my wrist before releasing it.

I nod slowly, slipping my hands into his silky black hair while he pushes up my nightgown.

He practically tore through my panties without a second thought, then froze for a moment before making contact. His eyes flicked to mine and I returned his stare with pleasing eyes and a rapid nod. He leaned down, below my lips and to the line of my jaw, making his way down the column of my throat before his calloused fingertips came to contact with my pulsing cunt.

His lips morphed into a malicious smile as he felt just how badly I needed him, the way I was practically dripping down his hand. "So wet, and here I was thinking you hated me?" He drawled against my skin, kissing down my chest and then back up to the hollow of my throat.

I tug at his hair, silently begging him for more. "Lorcan," I whine, words failing me as I arch into his touch, attempting to get even the smallest taste of pleasure. "Please, touch me," I swallow past the lump in my throat.

"I am touching you, love," He whispered, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

My brows furrowed, features contorting with need. "Inside of me, please," I beg. A smirk pulls at his lips and he leans closer, gently pressing his lips to my cheek— too gentle to be casual. But I didn't have time to weigh the action because suddenly he had two fingers pushing inside of my aching cunt, stretching me out.

A gasp escaped me and he swallowed it greedily before connecting our lips again, silencing me.

His long, calloused fingers pumped skillfully into me, grazing against my contracting walls. "Fuck, you're tight," He breathed as I clenched desperately around his hand, gripping his hair but not pulling. His other hand snaked up my propped-up thigh, pinning it down with a possessive need.

His thumb met my clit and it took everything in me not to scream, to cry out his name. "That's it," He encouraged. "Such a good girl, staying quiet for me," He praised, making the tension in my core tighten until it was nearly unbearable.

My overwhelming need for release was all-consuming, every thrust of his fingers, every roll of his thumb sent me reeling. He knew I was close, knew from the way I was trembling beneath him— I knew that he knew, but still, I cried in protest when his hand stilled.

"Not yet," He warned softly, pulling his hand out of me entirely, leaving me empty and aching. I opened my mouth to protest, to beg him to keep going, but he cut me off with a searing kiss, swallowing my complaints with his lips. "I said, be patient," He whispered against my mouth, his tone dark and commanding. "And when you come, it'll be on my cock. Understood?"

I nodded quickly, my breath coming in desperate pants, the tension in my body screaming for release. But I clamped down on my objections, not wanting him to drag this out longer than he already meant to.

His smirk widened, pleased with my compliance, and he finally rid himself of the last of his clothes, his pants hitting the ground with a soft thud. The sight of him—broad and powerful, his skin glistening in the dim light of the tent—made my pulse quicken, and the need to feel him inside me surged with renewed intensity.

He moved to get rid of my clothes too, still bunched at my hips. Luckily he didn't rip it off of me as he did with my panties, instead guided the material over my head, baring me to the brisk night air and his intense gaze.

"Beautiful," He whispered softly, pressing a claiming kiss to the top of one of my breasts. My lip wobbled with a need to moan but I held it down, instead distracted myself with the sight of him.

His shirtless figure was a sight to behold, carved muscle and a chest as hard as marble, but it was what was below his torso that made me pause.

I had expected Lorcan to be big, but gods. I had been with many men in my immortal life, and still, he made me freeze.

His smirk widened as he noticed where my stare was directed. He settled himself between my thighs, his broad frame dwarfing mine. I could feel the heat of him pressing into me, so much of him. My breath hitched, and his dark eyes flicked down, catching the way I bit my lip as he aligned himself at my entrance. His size alone had me trembling, and he knew it—relishing in the subtle way my body tensed beneath him.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "I almost feel bad," he whispered, "about how much I'm going to stretch you out."

A low whimper escaped me, and I felt his grin against my skin. My fingers curled into his hair, tugging lightly as I drew him closer, desperate for more. His eyes darkened as I pulled harder, and I could feel the tension ripple through his body.

"Be good for me, love, and stay still," he purred, voice a velvety rasp. His hips barely moved, teasing me with the blunt head of his cock as he pushed forward just enough to stretch me—just enough to drive me wild. He pulled back before I could feel the full pressure, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he watched my hips arch off the bedding, chasing him.

"You're so desperate," he murmured, his breath hot against my throat, "so needy." His tone was teasing in a way that would usually enrage me, but the way he said it sent a rush of heat to my core instead, making me clench around nothing, aching for him to fill me.

"Lorcan," I whispered, my voice trembling as I shifted beneath him, trying to ease the ache. He groaned at the sound of his name on my lips, and the tension in his body told me he was holding back, keeping himself in check for my sake.

Slowly, torturously, he guided himself to my entrance, the blunt head of his cock teasing me, stretching me open just enough to make me gasp. My nails dug into his shoulders as he began to push forward, the burn of the stretch sending sparks of pain-laced pleasure through my core.

"Fuck," I breathed, my eyes squeezing shut as he inched deeper. He was so big—bigger than I'd expected—and I had to fight to keep my breaths steady as my body adjusted to the size of him.

Lorcan paused for a moment, letting me catch my breath, his large hand caressing my thigh in slow, soothing strokes. "You're doing so well," he murmured, his voice a low rasp, full of restraint. "Just relax for me."

"Stay still," he breathed, voice rough as he pulled back just enough to make me whine, the emptiness unbearable. "Gods, it's hard to control myself when you keep moving like that."

A shiver ran through me at his words, my core clenching around him as he pressed forward again, slow and deliberate, giving me every thick inch of him until I was stretched impossibly full. My legs trembled as they tried to accommodate his size, and his hands came down to hold them steady, lifting my thighs higher, and spreading me wider beneath him.

"That's it, just like that," he murmured, his voice dropping to a growl as he adjusted his angle, sliding deeper still. "Good girl, taking me so well."

I whimpered at the praise, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging harder now, desperate to feel him move. His breath hitched, a low moan escaping him as I pulled, and I could feel the way it affected him—how much it pushed him closer to the edge of his restraint.

But Lorcan wasn't one to be rushed.

He withdrew agonizingly slow, leaving me panting beneath him, aching for him to fill me again. "You can handle a little more, can't you?" he teased, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw the need in my eyes. My hands moved from his hair to the nape of his neck, trying to pull him back down to me, urging him on, but he caught my wrists with ease, pinning them above my head with one large hand. The contrast in size was startling—his fingers easily wrapping around both of my wrists, holding me completely at his mercy.

He leaned down, his lips barely brushing mine as he whispered, "Stay still, or I'll make you wait longer."

A soft whimper escaped me, and he chuckled darkly, pleased with my compliance. Slowly, he started to move again, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one drawing out the delicious stretch, making me gasp as he filled me completely, finally bottoming out as his hips pressed into mine.

My body trembled beneath him, the intensity of it building with every slow, torturous thrust. I could feel the thick slide of him inside me, the way my walls clenched around his cock, desperate to hold him, to keep him deep inside. But Lorcan kept up the slow pace, each thrust deeper than the last, drawing me out, making me feel every inch of him.

"Fuck, so tight," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with desire. His free hand slid down my side, gripping my waist as he pulled me closer, his hips rolling into me with a new intensity that made me see stars.

"Lorcan," I mewled, writhing beneath him, bucking my hips up to meet his

He let out a low growl as I continued to disobey his order to stay still. "If you keep doing that," he warned, his voice thick with strain, "I'm not going to be able to stop myself."

"Then don't," I breathed, my voice trembling as I arched into him, wanting—needing—more.

His eyes darkened, and before I could say anything else, he was moving again, faster now, his thrusts more intense, each one hitting deeper, making me cry out in pleasure. He swallowed my moans with his mouth, devouring me with a kiss so fierce it left me breathless.

Lorcan's hand, the one not gripping my wrists, slipped between us, his thumb brushing over my clit with just enough pressure to make me gasp, my body jerking beneath him. "Stay quiet," he reminded me, his voice a low growl as his thumb circled slowly, teasingly. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, would we?"

I shook my head frantically, biting down on my lip to keep from crying out as his pace quickened, the tension inside me building unbearably with every push and pull of his powerful hips, every circle of his thumb on my sensitive clit. I was so close, so on edge, but I knew he wasn't going to let me go just yet. He wanted to drag it out, to make me feel every second of it.

His lips ghosted over my ear as he whispered, "I love how small you feel beneath me—how perfectly you fit around my cock."

His words sent a shiver down my spine, making my walls tighten around him in response. I could feel the heat of his body pressing into mine, the steady rhythm of his thrusts making me dizzy with desire. The way he filled me, stretched me, it was almost too much—almost, but not enough.

I wanted more. I needed more.

He pulled back just enough to smirk down at me, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "Gods, you're so fucking tight," he growled, his voice low and guttural as he picked up the pace, thrusting into me harder, deeper. My body arched beneath him, instinctively chasing the pleasure only he could give me.

His hand, still holding my wrists above my head, tightened its grip, his other sliding down my body to grab hold of my waist, pulling me against him with each thrust. The intensity was overwhelming, but I craved every second of it. His thumb returned to my clit, circling it with maddening precision, making my toes curl and my breath catches in my throat.

I bit down on my lip, desperate to keep quiet as he'd commanded, but it was nearly impossible with the way he was driving me to the brink, over and over again. I could feel the pressure building in my core, a white-hot ball of tension that threatened to unravel me at any moment.

"You close baby?" Lorcan rasped, his voice rough as he ground his hips into mine, each thrust hitting deeper than the last. His thumb pressed harder on my clit, the friction sending shockwaves through my body.

I nodded frantically, unable to form coherent words, my head spinning with the need for release.

"Beg for it," he commanded, his breath hot against my ear as he continued his relentless pace, driving me wild. "Beg me to let you come."

I whimpered, my body trembling beneath him as I struggled to find the words. "Please, Lorcan," I whispered, my voice shaking as I arched up against him, desperate for more. "Please, please I can't hold it— I need it, Lor."

He groaned at my words, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic, his control slipping. "Good girl," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Go ahead, come on my cock."

With those words, the tension inside me snapped. My entire body clenched around him, my back arching off the bed as I came undone, the wave of pleasure crashing over me so violently I saw stars. I bit down on my lip, stifling the scream that threatened to escape as my orgasm tore through me, every nerve in my body alight with sensation.

Lorcan let out a low, guttural groan as he felt me clench around him, his pace faltering as he chased his own release. His hips snapped into mine one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came with a low growl, his body trembling with the force of it.

For a long, breathless second, neither of us moved, the sounds of our ragged breathing the only thing filling the air. But as the intensity slowly ebbed, Lorcan pulled back, his smirk already returning to his lips. He let out a satisfied hum as he leaned down to press a lazy kiss to my jaw. "See? You can follow orders when you really want to."

I swatted his chest weakly, a smirk tugging at my lips. "Don't get used to it," I said, still panting, though my voice had a playful edge to it.

He chuckled, rolling off me and settling onto his side, his large arm draped possessively over my waist. "I don't need to. You'll break soon enough."

I snorted, feeling the familiar banter falling back into place. "You're dreaming, Salvaterre. If anything, you're the one breaking. You were practically trembling back there."

His dark eyes flashed with amusement, and he leaned down to brush his lips against my ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "If I was really trying to break you, you wouldn't even be able to walk right now."

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips. "Bold words for an old man who can barely control himself."

He raised a brow, his grip on my waist tightening just enough to remind me of his strength. "Care to test that theory?"

I shot him a challenging look, though the heat still lingered in my veins. "Maybe next time," I teased, flipping onto my side to face him, our noses brushing and suddenly the tent didn't feel all that small. "You've got to save some energy if you plan on keeping up with me, after all."

His eyes glinted with amusement, and the playful edge in his smile sent a shiver of anticipation through me. "Oh, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into,"

With a wink, I scooted a little further from him— well, as far as I could, feigning innocence. "Well, in that case, let's see if you can keep your hands to yourself until morning."

Lorcan's low chuckle reverberated in the tent, his eyes gleaming with challenge as he watched me. "Go to sleep already," He insisted. I look at him, staring at his features softened by the moonlight filtering through the canvas.

And as I settled back into the blankets, his body warm beside mine, I couldn't help but smirk, knowing that the game between us was far from over. "Goodnight, Lor," I mumble quietly.

The faint light of dawn filtered through the tent, pulling me from sleep. The warmth of Lorcan's body was missing, and the space beside me felt cool to the touch. I blinked groggily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I rolled onto my back, pulling the thin blankets over my bare body, the events of the previous night replaying in my mind.

I swallowed hard, my heart thudding as I thought about everything—what it meant to have crossed that line with Lorcan. We'd been stuck in this tense back-and-forth, pushing each other's buttons ever since I met the male, but last night had changed everything, we stepped past a boundary we couldn't come back from. A part of me wondered if it would be different now, or if he'd go back to being the brooding, impossible male he was before. My chest tightened, but I pushed the thought aside. No use overthinking it, especially when we had a mission to accomplish.

I took a deep breath, sitting up and squaring my shoulders as I reached for my clothes, trying to act as normal as possible. We had orders and obligations, and I couldn't afford to be distracted by what happened between us. But gods, it was hard to ignore the lingering ache in my body, between my legs, the reminder of how thoroughly Lorcan had claimed me.

I ran my hands through my messy head of hair and braided it back to have somewhat of a semblance of neatness. With my nightgown replaced by my gear, I slipped out of the tent, the early morning air crisp against my skin, my boots crunching on the fallen leaves. As I approached the campfire, I spotted Lorcan among the rest of Maeve's blood sworn—all gathered around, the smell of campfire smoke filling my senses.

The moment I stepped to where the rest sat, Fenrys' head snapped up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, well," he drawled, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "Look who decided to join us."

I forced a casual smile, pretending I hadn't noticed the way the rest of the males exchanged looks. "Good morning," I said, keeping my voice steady, though I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I kept my eyes off Lorcan as I took a seat beside the white wolf, ignoring the tension in my stomach that was somewhere between knots and butterflies.

Lorcan didn't say anything, but I could feel his presence in front of me, his tall frame looming over the fire as he flipped something on the skillet. I couldn't tell what it was amidst the flames, but with the way Vaughan and Rowan were wincing something told me it was a bird one of the others seemed good enough to eat.

Rowan raised a brow at me, his sharp gaze flicking between Lorcan and me before he smirked. "You sleep well?" he asked innocently, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed him.

I shot him a sidelong glance. "As well as I could, considering someone was snoring."

Fenrys snorted, nudging Gavriel on the other side of him, who was trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. "Must've been some noise last night," Fenrys said under his breath, not bothering to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

Heat surged to my face, and I glared at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gavriel gave a soft cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, while Fenrys outright cackled. "Don't worry," Fenrys said, flashing me a wink. "No judgments here."

My face felt like it was on fire, and I was sure my expression was betraying me, but I shot back, "How sweet of you, Fenrys."

"You know, if you ever grow bored of the brooding male you could always come join me in my tent instead," Fenrys added, leaning back on his palms with his signature smirk. "I could show you what it's like to really be loud," He suggested and I swore Lorcan's knuckles turned white he was gripping his hunting knife so tightly. But he remained steady, didn't so much as look at us as he awaited my reply.

"Tempting, Fenrys, but I think I'll stick with what I have. Once you go tall, dark, and brooding, it's hard to go back." I say, flicking my gaze past the fire to Lorcan, whose shoulders visibly relaxed.

Fenrys clenched at his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded. "Ah, so it's like that, is it?" he quipped, but the glint in his eye said he was far from offended. "I guess I'll just have to find solace in knowing I could've changed your life forever."

I grinned, leaning back on my hands as I shot him a mock-sympathetic look. "You'll survive, Fenrys. I hear rejection builds character."

He was about to retort when Rowan chimed in, his deep voice filled with dry amusement. "I don't know, Fenrys. After last night, it sounds like she found someone more than capable of showing her a good time."

My cheeks flamed as I glared at Rowan, though I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You too, huh?" I shot back.

Before Fenrys could continue the teasing, Lorcan finally broke his silence, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "Don't you have better things to do than gossip about things that don't concern you?" He still didn't look up from the skillet, but the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Vaughan, silent as ever, gave a half-shrug, tossing a stick into the fire as he added his two cents, his voice calm but amused. "Considering the noise last night, it kind of does concern all of us."

A chorus of snickers followed, and even Gavriel cracked a grin. My face went up in flames, and I buried it in my hands. "You all need better hobbies," I muttered into my palms, but it did nothing to stop the laughter ringing through the camp.

I turned my head just enough to catch Lorcan's eyes as he finally glanced over at me, the firelight flickering in his gaze. The corner of my lips lifted in a challenging smirk.

"If you lot are done, breakfast is ready." He moved and passed me a plate, his warm hand brushing against mine for just a second—a flicker of something unspoken passing between us—before he turned back to the skillet.

The knowing looks from the others didn't stop throughout breakfast. Fenrys continued to make sly comments, Rowan smirked every time Lorcan so much as glanced at me, and even Gavriel, the most serious of the group, couldn't completely hide his amusement.

I had managed to block all of their comments and snickering remarks out, but for some reason, I wasn't able to shake the stare Lorcan had pinned on me.

I looked over to him and for a moment his eyes flicked down to my lips, a challenge. I smirked, beckoning him to test the silent boundaries. He didn't move, but he didn't look away either, and something told me we were nowhere near finished with each other.

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nemesyaaa · 21 days ago

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the bear fx show au's inspiration ft. cook chef!rafe.

— little headcanons post. a bit of smut and fluff.

warnings : +18 content. minors dni. heavy smoking. smut. age gap. food play. be aware of the warnings before reading. do not take this au seriously, its all fun.

Chef's attitude : ★☆☆☆☆ — Cooking skills ★★★★★

Anger issues : ★★★★★ — Sympathy ★★☆☆☆

Restaurant: ★★★★★ — Relationships ★★★☆☆

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

✮⋆˙ — Something about Chef!Rafe. Everyone knows him. His name. His restaurant. The five stars crowning His food. his bad reputation. Everyone knows how talented and good he is, everyone is giving him everyday something to blow up his ego. The journalists at his door before the opening. The following paparazzis trying to get a shot of his rude attitude. The clients at his tables waiting to be fed. The girls over his bed that he can't help but forget their name. The people wanting to know his secrets. He wasn't born to be the king but now, he's sitting right here on the throne, and everyone is kneeling. He knows how to cook, and does it better than any man. OBVIOUSLY, knife and fingers skilled with the finest and largest hands ever. They've been tattooed since he turned eighteen, on his knuckles and the back of his hands.

✮⋆˙ — Something about Cook chef!Rafe, he doesn't give a fuck about the messy and homeless look he gives, the way his growing mullet is turning wild and shady on the back of his neck, the way his big nose is always glowing with oil and his clothes always smell of food like he never washes them. He also doesn't bother about his bad shaved jaw, and his smoking-whiskey breath that always came hot and heavy. He's often badly dressed because the only thing he really cares about is his restaurant. He's wearing the apron like nobody, well-tied on his back, hiding his buff chest, hugging the fat of his tiddies, and tracing his bulk frame.

♨ — He's always smoking at his workplace. His kitchen, his rules. The first and last person who ever tried to step on his authority ended with a black eyes and busted lips which caused him to never speak again, and never to look at rafe again. Chef!Rafe who used to be so mocked and humiliated on the past to ever give a fuck again about what people think of him. something about this guy, don't piss him off. don't play with his nerves. he's already too fucking busy and tired to deal with anything.

♡ — But believe me, this man is cooking with the most insane passion ever, he's doing the greatest meals ever, master of post-sex snacks with his hookups. He deserves the five stars, the articles in the magazines, and all the hype about his restaurant.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who is also known for his anger issues. Favorite subject of the media. Everyone knows he can't control himself and it's getting worse and worse each day. Violence and excess anger. No one can do it better than him, especially when he starts yelling at everyone. The kitchen is about to burn down when he starts. Everything is getting out of control and no one wants to stay, but it's even worse if someone makes the slightest movement. He loves taking his anger out on someone innocent because it's so much easier. He knows those terrified expressions so well when he turns into a storm. “ y'all want me to get worse ? y'all really trying to piss me off today ? what's that fuckin’ shit ? do that again and you're fired. ya know what, get your ass off my kitchen, you're already fired. ” and its only the beginning…“ don't fucking make me waste my time. you're cryin’ really ? gonna tell ya mama how bad i've been to you’ ? do you want me to give her a call ? is that the hot milf that would do a better job at sucking my dick than you at cooking for me ? ”

♨ — Cook chef!Rafe who smokes too much and not necessarily at the right time. He's literally using the fire of his cooking to light his cigarettes, ignoring willingly the danger of this action while everyone is scared.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who wasn't ready for a disaster bimbo like you coming in his life. He used to fuck so much girls like you, all pretty and noisy, maybe one of them were your friends or your sisters. it's not like you were different from them.

Something about you is that you were always well-dressed, not to say barely dressed with your little outfits, walking around to show off and mostly, to be seen. You were the attraction. The moment you entered the restaurant, everyone was looking at you. You were looking for a place to sit, with your chihuahua over your arms.

Rafe, who was about to return to the kitchen, saw you for the first time. You felt so out of the place.

�� Sweet puppies are not allowed, sugar. ” he just said while resting his cigarette on the back of his ear, after brushing dirty hands over his apron, giving you something to look at.

" But, wh...”

“ Don't know the sweet puppy can talk. ” He teased.

You just realized.

“ That's not a way to talk, sir. ”

" And, so what, sugar ? Wanna call the boss to complain about him ? "

" Yes, let's do that. I wanna see the boss, right now. Can't believe such jerks like you working in his restaurant. ”

“ Fine, pretty sure he wants to hear all the bad things you want to say to him. "

But the minutes after you entered his office, door closed and locked, you were fucked against the window of his room, your naked body to be seen to the streets full of people, face and breasts smashed against the glass while he was pounding inside your cunt for straight hours. “ Mmh...fuck ! I'm sorry, i promise ! ” “ yea, you will be when we will have around thirty orgasms...not now” he shushed you by crashing your head even more with his big hand.

You could barely stand still, your legs were shaking too much, against his rough body. all inches were forced to your pussy, juices dripping over your insides. “ Oh you're gonna come ? how many more until this cunt is passing out for me, sugar ? How many more ? ” you were crying, cheeks glistening from tears and your smeared makeup. “ you're lucky, i could put a fucking baby inside you but think this pretty face want to be served. ”

you felt his fingers grabbing your chin, his gaze looking down your pathetic face before slamming back over the glass again with no caring, like you were just nothing.

After that, all he said was “ Wanna eat something ? ” “ Are you gonna cook something for me ? ” “ Baby, that's literally what I do for a living. ”

Discovering his food has changed you. You were surprised. The rumors weren't lying. He cooked wonderfully well. He specialized in refined, gourmet cuisine, quality dishes made with exceptional products.

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!rafe who isn't the type to say thank you, or giggling at your compliments because he just knows how good it is. You're just feeding his ego, while he's feeding your tummy and heart. He's watching you eat, loving the bubble face you have everytime the taste is charming you. You were like a baby, his baby.

As his favorite bimbo disaster, you started to be a regular. But also his girl. He allows you to go into the kitchen, his safe place. So you are always there to annoy your man.

You're such a baby, always needy and wanting his attention. You're touching at everything, putting yourself in danger, yapping non stop about your days and friends, and Rafe is trying so hard to not tell you to shut up. His anger issues can't stand all your attitude. But he doesn't stop him from caring, he can cook, lead his crew and look after you. He's multitasking.

♨ — Cook Chef!Rafe who finds a way to tell you to shut up without making you cry by making you taste the food. “ How's the taste ? ” “ Feed me again. I love it. ” And he did it. Everytime you ask. “ Now, I wanna taste something else. Come here. ” “ You're such a pain in ass, ya know ? I think you can wait thirty minutes. ” “ Thirty minutes ? It feels like tomorrow ! I can't wait. ” “ I know, you can. ” Now, the tone isn't playful anymore. “ I'm going home. ” “ You're not making a single move. You’re stayin’ here. Try to move, even just an inch and i will make you regret it. ”

You froze. “ No tears allowed too. ” And he kisses you before going back to the shift. “ Keep that face pretty and shut for me. ”

SOMETIMES, you get his soft attitude toward you. you get it as a reward for your good attitude. you know which mood he's in from the moment he's at home.

♡ — If he's in a good mood, he's gonna leave you alone to cook in the kitchen, and serve you all the meals like the princess you are, and after, he's gonna eat you out, from the back. He's in need to taste you, to plush his tongue in your drenched hole. Large hands over your back while he's lapping to your cunt, nose rubbing against your clit and tickling the little bud. you've been so good and he suddenly wants to give you everything. his tongue raw and nasty, swirling through your walls as he holds his grip tightly on your thighs. He's getting deep, loving the sweet moans coming from your mouth. “ can't wait to fuck this sweet pussy…’s too good, you're too good. ”

A short break to look at your sopoy core, wet juices coating your parted lips and giving him the most perfect sight ever. He's got all the view of your hole dripping, watching his own work like a proud artist, before eating you back. “ gonna get you ready for me right now…how does it feel ? tell me since you can't keep that mouth close for a second” “ m-more…please ! ” “ am i not giving you enough sugar ? ” You giggle softly, letting the word slip over your mouth. “ Fuck me…I want you to fuck me.” “ And I'm hearing you baby, I'm gonna fuck you. ” “ Please, sir…” “ So now, you're being polite…that's progress…” “ Are you gonna fuck me or do you need my help, sir ? ” “ Think you're the only one who needs my help right now, do not act so cocky. ” “ Think you will be able to keep the pace, old man ? We can go slow, grandpa. I know it's not easy anymore for older men…” A small grin curved around his lips as he putted his dick against your entrance, teasing the glistening tip over your drenched parts, wanting nothing but to fuck you raw for your little attitude. “ I'm not that old. ” “ You could have born me. ” “ Oh baby, you wish. ”

✮⋆˙ — Cook chef!Rafe who can be so creative when he's in the mood by using you as a table for his meals. so that's why you always find yourself covered with honey, sushis, whipped cream, strawberries and cherries as he eating directly from your body. he's challenging you by dare you to not move but you always end up losing because his mouth on your skin feels so good, and the way his tongue is licking at the food but at yourself at the same time just giving you so much spasms.

♨ — Cook chef!Rafe who doesn't want you in the kitchen, literally a forbidden place for you because you're too much of a disaster. He can't really focus when you're around because you're too close to making something dangerous. “ Come on, I'm literally living here. you can't forbid me to come. "" I can't ? Then why are you standing miles away from the kitchen ? noisy for nothing, aren't you ? "" you're being mean. ” “You're too sensitive when you're hungry, do you know that ? ”

♡ — Something you can be sure of...the kitchen will always be clean. He's cooking but he's washing the dishes too. He can't cook if it's too messy or dirty. He's manic about it. but the rest of the house is for you to clean…

♨ — Cook chef! Rafe who's now handcuffs you every time you're at the kitchen on shift time to be sure you're going nowhere, and touching nothing. And duct tape your mouth with cellophane when you're yapping too much. He doesn't bother about the whispers of his crew.

♡— Cook chef!Rafe who's always taking his weekends to take you on vacations in your other countries. He's giving you the life you always dreamed of, spending money on every one of your needs. And he does love the feeling of having someone in his life.

thanks you for reading this messy headcanons, you're brave and loved !!! <333

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vermiciousyidreborn · 7 months ago

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People like to talk about the lessons Jews should or did learn from the Holocaust, as though that's the only genocide we've been through. They like to say it should make us the nicest, kindest people because we've been through the worst so how could we ever inflict pain on others? How could we ever hold ourselves as more important to us than others, having seen the camps?

The thing is, we did learn a lesson. And it's a lesson we've been taught time and time again. That when it comes down to it, not only will non-Jews look the other way when Jews are slaughtered, they will gleefully participate and cheer it on. From Rome to the Crusades, to Spain, to Germany and all the places in between, we've learned that we're in this alone. We want to all be in this together, but everyone else has made it clear that that's never going to be the case.

So we know we're alone, that other than a very small minority, the only people who will ever object to Jews bieng murdered are other Jews. The Righteous Among the Nations are a tiny minority, and for every person who was a member, there are not hundreds who think they would have been. Some of them think they would have been and are celebrating the largest pogrom since WWII today. They're wrong, of course. If the Nazis came for the Jews, they'd do what they're doing: celebrate it.

Yes, we learned our lesson. We learned you all hate us, and Jewish existence has to be secured by Jews, no one else will do it for us or help us. This combined with our ancient longing to return to where we came from and created the modern state of Israel. Then there were more attempts to wipe out Jews, more attempts to drive us into the sea and destroy us, but this time, Jews took our future into our own hands and survived. Were there excesses? Yes. War crimes? Definitely. Have the past decades included missteps, crimes, and all sorts of horrible things? Yes.

But why would Israel do these things? Survival. Why has the war against Hamas in Gaza been so destructive? Why has it expanded to Yemen, to Lebanon, and potentially to Iran? Survival. In the end, Israel is a country with a single mandate written in stone: the Jewish people will live. And on October 7th, 2023, Hamas made it clear that whatever mellowing they'd appeared to do, whatever potential there had seemed for peace, Hamas finds that mandate to be intolerable. They believe the Jewish people must die. And then they killed as many as they could. Then the Houthis and Hezbollah joined in, firing rockets and drones.

If you're a country whose mandate is "the people of my country must survive" and with the historical understanding of "and no one will come to our aid if things get really serious" then what do you do? You, too, would view this struggle as existential. You, too, would likely accept casualties and destruction to try to root out the groups trying to wipe you off the face of the Earth. And you, too, wouldn't trust the people who seem weirdly obsessed with attacking the country that is going to extreme lengths to ensure that you survive.

What did the Jewish people learn from the Holocaust? We're alone. Help isn't coming. We have to deal with threats by ourselves. And that's why Gaza is in ruins, why Beirut is being bombed, and why Biden is trying to persude Netanyahu not to destroy Iran's oil refineries. And amid all this, you all are taking to the streets, calling for our deaths, and proving that those lessons were right, but might not have gone far enough.

#jumblr #october 7 #antisemitism #rambling

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narumi-gens · 2 years ago

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Traditional Values

yakuza!Kita Shinsuke x f!Reader

summary: You’ve never known a yakuza to be boring. But what else could they mean when they say that Kita Shinsuke, the head of the most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional?

warnings: 18+, smut, yakuza au, arranged marriage, inherent sexism and misogyny, smoking, mentioned drug and alcohol use, violence (sorry to the oc in this fic lol), blood, spit, oral (f receiving & mentioned m receiving), mild exhibitionism, orgasm control, possessive!kita, hinted yandere-ish behavior, implied dom!kita, fingers crossed he's not too out of character 🤞🏽, reader is a spoiled little yakuza princess, idk if reader is all that likable but I like her and that's all that matters

notes: I feel like I'm starting to specialize in chaos characters bc while Kita is not one in this fic, the reader certainly is. but a different kind of chaos.

words: 5.9k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not interact

The one word you hear over and over again when people talk about Kita Shinsuke, the head of the Inarizaki, the largest and most powerful yakuza group in Kansai, is traditional.

Despite his current position, he comes from a long line of traditional rice farmers. Once he took power over the Inarizaki, he put in place a stricter, more traditional code of conduct that all members were expected to adhere to. Instead of partying away his nights in Kobe’s clubs and brothels, he spends his evenings in a traditional house in the Hyogo countryside.

And he has traditional family values, with traditional expectations of what he wants in a wife.

But you know that traditional really just means boring.

Unfortunately, a traditional and boring life seems like all you're destined for because your father, the head of Kanto's largest yakuza syndicate, the Fukurodani, has decided to seal an alliance with the Inarizaki through marriage.

Specifically, your marriage to Kita.

After all, you're a woman and a woman can't lead the yakuza. Your only value comes from how useful you can be as a tool to build alliances and cement power. You had at least just hoped that your father would have chosen someone more exciting for you to spend the rest of your life with.

While he would never stomach seeing you at the head of the organization, he could easily have married you off to his right-hand man and hand-picked heir, the Fukurodani's young and wild wakagashira, Bokuto Koutarou. After all, nothing would ensure an eventual smooth succession better than a marriage to his only child.

And even if he decided you were more useful as a means of building his power rather than ensuring his legacy, there were still other options.

There were plenty of crazy yakuza out there who would have kept your interest piqued if only your father had chosen to further consolidate his power in Tokyo or to look for an alliance up north rather than out west.

But your father has made his choice and Kita has agreed and you have no say in the matter. It's not long before the young yakuza kumicho, along with his most trusted men in the Inarizaki, arrives in Tokyo to negotiate the finer details in person.

And when you finally meet him at dinner with your parents, you can't say that you're impressed.

He's polite. He's soft-spoken. He's respectful. He's so. utterly. boring.

As you sit next to him in a private room at one of Tokyo's finest restaurants, listening to him as he genially answers your mother's questions about his own upbringing and tells her about his close relationship with his grandmother, all you can think is, 'what a waste.'

Regardless of how handsome he is and how much his men seem to respect him and how powerful his position is, he's missing that wildness inherent to every true yakuza.

By the time the plates are cleared and the manager of the restaurant is falling over himself to thank your father for his patronage, you’ve made your assessment of your new fiancé.

Kita is dull.

It’s all you can think as he cordially thanks your father at the end of the evening.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he humbly accepts your mother’s compliments and adoration.

‘You’re so boring.’

It’s all you can think as he politely bids you goodnight with a bow, telling you softly how nice it was to meet you.

‘You’re so boring.’

You have to bite back the urge to say the words aloud, directly to his face, just to see what he would do. Would he drop his courteous smile? Would he clench his fists? Would he slap you?

‘You’re so boring.’

He would probably just look slightly taken aback before doing his best to laugh off any offense.

“It was nice to meet you too, Kita-san,” you finally reply, your tone suggesting anything but. You feel the disapproval rolling off of your parents in waves and can already hear the lecture that awaits you once you’re alone with them.

Your father will chastise you for the disrespect that you’ve shown to a new ally, and by extension him. He’ll sternly remind you that this is your duty as his daughter. If he’s really feeling irritable then he’ll light up a cigarette and grumble about how he’s spoiled you for too long and hopes that Kita has a firm hand.

Your mother, however, will almost certainly turn so shrill in her anger that you’ll want to cover your ears. She’ll berate you for insulting your husband-to-be. She’ll scold you for your clear disinterest and boredom through every course of dinner. She’ll then blame your father for being too lenient with you over the years, to which your father will respond by simply taking a long drag of his cigarette.

But in the present, Kita simply gives you a polite smile in return and the chorus continues in your head.

‘You’re so boring.’

Just because you’re now technically engaged doesn’t mean that you need to change how you live your life. If anything, you need to savor all the fun you can before you’re shipped off to Hyogo to spend the rest of your days popping out kids and taking care of some big, empty, country house with a man who’s less interesting than the rice his family grows.

It’s not even an hour after you get home from dinner before you’re leaving once again. Only this time, you’re wearing something far more revealing and decisively less conservative than the formal kimono that your mother forced you into for your meeting with Kita — something meant to appeal to his traditional taste.

Your current outfit is one that’s perfectly suited to the high-end clubs of Roppongi. Not that it really matters considering you’re tucked away in a private VIP room, away from the large crowds and deafening music and prying eyes.

Normally, you would be surrounded by a group of your friends. But after being confronted with the man that you’ve been sentenced to marry and seeing the unending boredom in your near future, you've recognized that it also applies to your sex life.

You’ve only spent a couple of hours with Kita, but it was more than enough to know that he probably prefers fucking in missionary with the lights off. The only orgasms that you can expect as a married woman will probably come from your vibrator — unless he decides that a vibrator isn’t traditional enough, in which case you’ll have to rely on your fingers exclusively.

So, instead of the VIP room being filled with your friends, it’s just you and the man whose face is buried between your thighs, Ito Tatsuya. While your feelings towards Tatsuya tend to lie closer to ambivalence than anything else, his skilled tongue is more than enough to make up for it.

With the way his lips are wrapped around your clit, it’s easy to ignore how he acts tougher than he truly is. He talks a big game but has refrained from acting on all of his talk and joining a yakuza group. Ultimately it works in your favor as no yakuza would dare lay a finger on the beloved daughter of the Fukurodani’s feared kumicho, knowing that doing so would bring the wrath of the entire criminal organization down on their heads.

Tatsuya is the closest that you’ll get as he’s only tangentially affiliated with one of the few other powerful yakuza groups in Tokyo, the Nekoma organization. Although their power will never come close to the strength of the Fukurodani, your father has a good relationship with their kumicho, Nekomata Yasufumi. The two yakuza groups have had a strong alliance for decades.

Likewise, Bokuto has his own sense of camaraderie and friendship with Nekomata’s wakagashira, Kuroo Tetsuro, whom you’ve had the pleasure of meeting on multiple occasions as you run in the same circles. Unfortunately, it’s never turned into anything more, despite your best efforts.

Kuroo Tetsuro. That’s a man. That’s a real yakuza.

If your luck was better and if relations with the Nekoma group were worse, you probably would have been married off to him rather than the snoozefest that you’ve ended up with.

It’s easy to slip into the fantasy that it’s Kuroo whose grip feels scorching on your thigh, whose fingers are pumping in and out of your dripping cunt, whose tongue is lapping at your needy clit. The image in your head pushes you closer to the edge as your hips buck in time with his fingers.

But just as you can see your orgasm within reach, your attention is yanked away from your pleasure when the door to the VIP room opens with a BANG! as it’s kicked in. You protest with a whine as Tatsuya lifts his head from between your thighs, pure murder written across his face at having been disturbed.

Unaffected by the interruption, you use your grip on his hair to try and tug him back to his original task, but it’s of no use. He’s already removing his arm from around your thigh to reach back and pull out the gun that’s been tucked in the waistband of his pants.

You're momentarily impressed that he would flaunt the country’s severe firearm restrictions. Although the effect is lost a few moments later when he sits up only to freeze, his features going slack.

When you finally turn your head to see who’s behind the disruption, you frown unhappily.

“Kita-san,” you greet with an irritated sigh. And even you know that you’ll never get Tatsuya’s mouth back on your pussy at this point and you release your hold on his hair with a resigned huff.

Tatsuya scrambles to remove himself entirely from between your legs, carelessly dropping his gun onto the low table before the couch that you’re sprawled out across. He lifts his hands to show that they’re now empty and he’s not a threat, as if anyone would ever believe he was one.

You wonder if his panic stems from knowing exactly who it is that’s found you both in such a compromising position or if it’s solely due to how intimidating Kita and the two men on either side of him look.

For as boring as he is, you’ll give him credit. The sight of him standing in the doorway, the black jacket of the same suit he wore to dinner draped across broad shoulders, his arms crossed casually over his chest, his expression giving nothing away, is impressive. Even if he didn’t have two of his underlings with him — one with grey hair and one with dark hair, both of them wearing similar looks of apathy — it would be more than enough to put the average person on edge.

However, you’ve spent your whole life surrounded by dangerous men, with dangerous men at your beck and call.

So, as Tatsuya begins to babble, making excuses and insisting that he doesn’t want any trouble, you simply roll your eyes and push down your skirt just enough so that your pussy is no longer on display. But even in the low light of the VIP room, the insides of your thighs — and how they shine with the evidence of your rapidly-cooling arousal — are clearly visible.

“Suna,” Kita says, his gaze fixed on you. The dark-haired man needs no further instruction before he’s moving past his oyabun towards Tatsuya.

He easily grabs the cowering man from the couch by the front of his shirt and roughly shoves him to his knees on the floor, keeping him in place with one hand fisted tightly in his hair, just as yours had been only a few minutes earlier.

Kita slips his jacket from his shoulders and in doing so, you catch a glimpse of the blood-red lining on the inside. He passes it to the man still at his side, who carefully folds it over his arm in a way that won’t leave any creases. He then methodically begins to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his forearms and the large swaths of tattooed skin that extend almost to his wrists.

Part of you is surprised. Kita seems too dull to have even the smallest tattoo, let alone full tattooed sleeves. But another part of you knows how much significance tattoos have historically held to the yakuza and he’s nothing if not traditional. Your thighs unconsciously squeeze together as you imagine how far they spread over the rest of his body.

The action doesn’t seem to escape his notice because he raises an eyebrow at you but makes no further comment before he turns to Tatsuya, who continues to plead for mercy.

“Enough.”

Kita doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t put any force behind the single word. Other than ensuring his sleeves are snugly held in place just below his elbows, he doesn’t even move. But there’s a danger to him that Tatsuya is quick to pick up on and his blubbering comes to an immediate halt.

He fearfully waits for the silver-haired yakuza to go on and when he does, it’s probably not in the way he was expecting. Because rather than explaining who he is or why he’s there — which Tatsuya has probably figured out on his own by this point — Kita places a hand on the back of the kneeling man’s head. The other man, Suna, releases Tatsuya altogether, wordlessly deferring to his oyabun and taking a step back to give his boss space.

The tension in the room is thick as Kita looks down at the trembling man on his knees, his face still as blank as it’s been since his sudden arrival. It snaps in an instant when he sharply yanks Tatsuya’s head down and his nose meets Kita’s raised knee with a sickening crunch! that would leave a less seasoned group of onlookers feeling queasy.

As it stands, both Suna and the other Inarizaki man appear to be amused, entertained even. You get the sense that displays of this nature from the yakuza boss aren’t common.

But as you see the blood pouring from Tatsuya’s nose and hear his howling and watch as your fiancé’s fist repeatedly makes contact with the man’s face, you feel none of that same amusement. You also don’t feel afraid or disgusted or concerned.

You’ve long grown desensitized to the violence associated with the yakuza. If anything, you can feel the boredom setting in once again.

You reach out to the table in front of you for the ashtray where your cigarette rests, having set it down when Tatsuya buried his face in your pussy. However, as soon as you pick it up, a long column of ash falls from the end and you realize with a pout that it’s already burned down to the filter.

The little noise of irritation you let out can’t be heard over Tatsuya’s pained cries or the brutal sound of fist meeting flesh again and again. You pull a new cigarette from the open pack on the table and perch it between your lips before grabbing your cheap lighter.

Once it’s lit, you take a deep, contented inhale of smoke before exhaling a large cloud that sits atop the room before dispersing. You glance back to Kita and Tatsuya to find that the scene looks exactly the same as when you looked away — except for Tatsuya’s face is completely bloodied and already swelling, and he seems on the verge of passing out.

“Really, Kita-san?” you finally ask with a yawn as you roll onto your side, your head pillowed by your bicep.

He pauses, his fist raised mid-air, and looks over at you, his eyes roving over your lackadaisical sprawl across the couch. He wordlessly releases the front of Tatsuya’s shirt from his grasp, who then drops to the floor in a bloody mess.

Suna immediately steps in to harshly kick the man over onto his stomach and places a heavy, threatening foot right on his spine. Not that it matters considering Tatsuya seems to be in and out of consciousness by this point.

But your attention isn’t on Tatsuya; it’s on Kita as he approaches you, his pace unhurried. You’re slightly impressed that he’s barely out of breath from the beating he just delivered. He picks up the discarded gun from the table and in one smooth motion, pulls back the slide to look at the chamber before releasing the magazine to check it as well.

“It’s empty,” he notes before tossing it to the man holding his jacket, who easily catches it and claims it for his own. A loud bubble of laughter escapes you at Tatsuya’s expense, finding it hilarious that the only marginally cool thing that you’ve ever seen him do was all for show.

You slip your cigarette to rest between your smiling lips as your gaze flits between the other Inarizaki men and find that they too appear to think it’s funny. Suna even presses his foot harder into Tatsuya’s back with a smirk that only grows wider when he receives a groan in response.

However, the yakuza boss doesn’t seem to share the humor that you and his men are feeling. He grabs the edge of the table and lifts it up just enough to tilt it and send everything on top of it to the floor with a dull crash. You frown at the waste of a barely touched bottle of champagne, a top-shelf bottle of whiskey, and Tatsuya’s small, unopened bag of cocaine.

Kita pays none of the mess any mind as he takes a seat on the edge of the table’s now cleared surface, directly in front of you. With you still laid out on the couch, you’re eye level with his knees.

You look up at him and raise a challenging eyebrow, daring him to make his next move, daring him to keep you interested. You’re sorely disappointed when the first thing that he does is tug down your skirt to protect your modesty, something you find truly pointless considering the three men walked in on you in the middle of having your pussy eaten.

The sensation of the backs of his fingers running along the skin of your thigh as he pulls on the fabric sends a small shiver down your spine and reminds you that you were interrupted before you could cum. You shift your leg to expose your inner thigh to him in a tempting invitation for him to finish what Tatsuya started, but he simply ignores your provocation and gives your skirt one final tug to ensure it’s in place.

With a displeased roll of your eyes, you take another deep drag of your cigarette. But before you’ve finished, Kita plucks it from your lips and holds it aloft. He ignores your cry of protest as he waits half a moment for Suna to take it from him. You sit up in an effort to try and grab it back, but Kita’s fingers suddenly grip your chin hard enough that you think you’ll still feel them tomorrow.

He’s grasping you with the same hand that he used to pummel Tatsuya and you can feel how his fingers are warm and sticky with the man’s blood. It only takes a quick glance down to see that his knuckles are drenched in it.

With his hold keeping you in place, you’re unable to see what Suna does with your cigarette. However, you soon hear Tatsuya let out a low moan of pain and you have an idea.

“That’s a filthy habit,” he says. His tone is rather benign but you’re certain that you’re being scolded. “I won’t have ya keepin’ it up as my wife.”

You let out an unattractive snort and hope your expression conveys just how unimpressed you are.

“They’re my lungs. If I wanna turn them black, that’s my right.” If he didn’t have your chin held so firmly, you would probably have stuck out your tongue and pulled down on your lower eyelid to taunt him.

“Yer rights extend only to the ones that I allow ya to have,” he comments and from any other man, there would be a threatening weight to his words. Kita, however, speaks them so casually that it sounds like he’s making nothing more than an absent observation of an indisputable fact.

You can only pout in return and he releases his grip to give your cheek a gentle, condescending pat. He then lifts his unbloodied hand out at his side with his palm facing up.

“Osamu.”

The Inarizaki man with the grey hair is quick to come forward, his hand slipping inside the jacket that he’s still carrying to pull out something from the inner pocket and place it into Kita’s patiently waiting palm. He then returns to his previous spot near the door, ensuring that there’s a respectful distance between himself and Kita and you once more.

The small, carefully polished wooden box that he’s been given piques your interest. When he opens the lid, your eyes widen at the ring sitting inside of it. It’s elegant and beautiful — a traditional round diamond set atop a thin, pavé diamond band. It manages to avoid being ostentatious while still leaving no doubt about its expensive price tag, and therefore the status of the man who gave it to you.

For such a boring man, he apparently has good taste.

Your left hand moves on its own as you lift it for him expectantly. There’s the briefest flash of amusement in his eyes — the first real emotion that you’ve seen from him. But he wordlessly takes the ring from the box and slips it onto your third finger.

The first instinct you have as soon as you feel the cool metal on your skin is to bring it to your face so that you can examine your new engagement ring more closely. But he grabs your hand so suddenly to keep it in place that it startles you.

You raise your gaze to see that his own is glued to the ring that you’re now wearing. His thumb gently sweeps across the band and the gesture is a sharp contrast to how tightly his fingers are clasped around yours.

“See this?” He nods towards the ring, as if there were anything else that he could be referring to. “It’s not just a beautiful ring on yer pretty finger. It's a symbol of our commitment — yer commitment to me.”

It’s slight, barely even noticeable, but there’s an edge to his tone that’s been missing all night. You can suddenly imagine how it is this young, unassuming man with his calm and collected temperament worked his way to the top of the most powerful yakuza syndicate in Japan.

He takes a long moment to pause thoughtfully and it seems so natural that you wonder if this is a common occurrence when he speaks. You suppose you’ll have the rest of your life to figure it out.

“I have a lot of respect for yer father,” he breaks the silence, confusing you with the direction that he’s chosen to take your conversation. “He’s built one of the most sophisticated operations in the country. He’s a smart man who’s surrounded himself with people he can trust, who would take a bullet or a prison sentence for him without question. I won’t hesitate to say that he’s earned his reputation.”

He sounds sincere, but you still have no idea where he’s going with this. If this were anyone else, in any other situation, you would ask if he was more interested in marrying your father than interested in marrying you. You have enough self-awareness to know that doing so with Kita wouldn’t go well — but only just.

“He’s a man of honor and I don’t mean to insult him.” He pauses again, this one shorter than the previous one. However, something about it feels heavier and when he finally looks back up at you, his eyes are much colder.

“The Fukurodani may be the most powerful syndicate in Kanto, but when it comes down to it, no one can match the power and numbers of the Inarizaki,” he states.

Maybe it’s the matter-of-fact way he says it, maybe it’s how composed his expression is despite the events of that evening, but you’re suddenly incredibly aware of how his grip on your fingers has slowly tightened over the last few minutes, almost bordering on painful.

“I already own everythin’ from Kansai to Kyushu. If I wanted Tokyo, I could come and take it.” You believe him. While your father won’t let you in on his operations, you’re far from clueless about the politics of the criminal underworld, including who has power and how much.

And Kita is right. The Fukurodani are the most powerful group in Kanto, one of the most powerful groups in all of Japan — second only to the Inarizaki. If a war broke out between the two over control of the country’s capital, it would be a hard and bloody conflict but the Inarizaki would undoubtedly be the victors.

This marriage benefits your father more than it does Kita.

“Maybe one day I will. The alliance doesn’t really matter,” he tells you. But while he looks slightly pensive as he speaks, the corners of your lips begin to slowly turn upwards.

“Then what is it you want, Kiiiiitaaa-saaaan?” you ask, playfully stretching out his family name — what will soon be your family name.

The coldness in his demeanor seems to melt, although not into anything that could ever be considered close to warm. If you had to describe it, you would probably call it patronizing.

“Y’know they call ya Tokyo’s yakuza princess?” he replies and your smirk widens. It takes some effort with how tight his grip is, but you manage to wiggle your fingers just loose enough to intertwine them with his.

“Do they?” you ask innocently, as if you haven’t proudly worn the title over the years. You look at him knowingly through your lashes. “Even in the Hyogo countryside?”

“Even in the Hyogo countryside,” he answers mildly, briefly humoring you and you reward him with a pleased grin.

“Oh really?” you muse, bringing your joined hands up to your lips to lightly skim them along his bloody and torn knuckles.

His tolerance seems to have hit its limit because he quickly yanks his hand from yours to grab your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheeks so roughly that you give a small wince. His hand is large enough that it covers your mouth almost entirely.

If anyone else were in your position, they would most likely be trembling in fear. You can only smile into his palm, the mischief mirrored in your eyes.

Kita doesn’t come across as a man who often — if ever — gives into temptation. But although his patience with you has grown thin, he seems willing to allow himself just one small indulgence.

His hand shifts so that he can slowly run his thumb across your lips, leaving behind a sticky smear of blood in its wake. As his touch reaches your cupid’s bow, you slightly part your lips to press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb before opening your mouth and catching it between your teeth.

You use just enough pressure so that he can’t simply slip it free. The metallic tang of blood is strong on your tongue as you brush it teasingly against the tip, your gaze meeting his coyly. You close your lips around his thumb and give it a light suck that would have a lesser man on his knees, begging for you to let him between your thighs.

Kita reacts with a thoughtful hum and nothing else, not even the most minute muscle twitch.

“Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess whose father lets her get away with whatever she wants,” he remarks, entirely unbothered even as you continue to suckle on his thumb while he speaks. “I won’t be anywhere near as lenient with ya. And I won’t have ya makin’ a fool outta me just because we’re not married yet.”

Although the danger is there, completely unmistakable, his voice lacks the menacing tone that should accompany his words. Instead, they’re low and soft, caressing your ears like a lover’s would, luring you in seductively.

Impulse control has never been something that you’ve practiced; it’s never been something that you’ve needed to practice. In an act of utter shamelessness, you take his free hand, the one casually hanging from his knee, and place it high on your bare thigh.

When you try to slide it further under the hem of your skirt, which has already begun to ride up since he tugged it down, you find that his hand is immovable. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh, sinking into your soft skin with the weight of both his grip and his possessiveness.

“Yer mine now,” he tells you, his voice still gentle and entirely at odds with his burning touch and the taste of blood in your mouth. “I don’t need to wait for paperwork or a ceremony to make it official.”

His heavy gaze drops down to look pointedly at how you’re thighs are squeezing together, even as he keeps one of them firmly in place. He then slowly drags it back up to meet yours, leaving a scorching trail in its wake.

“I’m not just gonna give ya whatever it is ya ask for.” The words are a threat, even if he speaks them like a promise. “If ya want somethin’ from me, yer gonna have to earn it.”

Right now, there’s only one thing that you want from him and it's at the forefront of your mind.

“But I didn’t get to cum,” you whine around his thumb, your pitiful complaint slightly muffled.

Osamu and Suna’s matching looks of disbelief go unnoticed by you and Kita, neither man ever having imagined that someone would dare to say something so brazen to their fearsome oyabun.

There’s a flash in Kita’s eyes and the corner of his mouth twitches upwards for a fraction of a second. Both happen so quickly that you only notice because he has your rapt attention and it slowly dawns on you.

He likes it. He likes your audacity. He likes your impertinence. He likes how you sound like the spoiled brat that you are. He likes that he has Tokyo’s spoiled little yakuza princess squeezing his hand between her thighs and sucking on his thumb as she pathetically pleads with him to make her cum.

His thumb is slick with your saliva as he slips it from your mouth despite your efforts to keep it where it is by trying to sink your teeth deeper into it. He leaves a quickly-cooling trail of spit on your skin as he readjusts his hold on your jaw, once again digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks. The action only exaggerates the pout that you’re already giving him.

“And ya won’t again ‘til we’re married. I don’t care if it’s with someone else. I don’t care if it’s with yerself. The next time ya do will be on our wedding night.” He pauses, letting the silence hang over the room so that the impact of his next words is truly felt. “If yer good.”

You let out a displeased noise in protest but it goes ignored as he uses his grasp on your jaw to move your head a bit to the side so that you’re looking over his shoulder and directly at the grey-haired Inarizaki man behind him.

“This is Osamu. He’s gonna be stayin’ in Tokyo for a bit.” He gives you a single wave in acknowledgment from where he stands. “Yer father’s already agreed to it.”

The implication is clear: Osamu is to be Kita’s eyes and ears in Tokyo. If you act in any way that’s unbefitting of your new status as the woman set to marry the Inarizaki’s kumicho, he’ll certainly know.

“You’ll be seein’ a lot of him,” he tells you as he returns your focus back to him. He then leans forward, closing the gap between you to tenderly press a light kiss to your forehead, his lips moving against your skin with his next words. “So, be good for me.”

He sits back and meets your gaze expectantly and it’s clear that he wants your assurance that you’ll do as told. You give a childish roll of your eyes and his grip tightens in warning.

“I’ll be good,” you reply, the words feeling foreign on your tongue but they seem to appease him.

However, his eyes soon land on your lips and then narrow. It’s a small movement, but the temperature of the room seems to drop with it. His next question is spoken as softly as everything else he’s said that night, but there’s a new kind of gravity to it, one that promises danger should he receive an answer that he doesn’t like.

“Did ya use yer mouth on him?”

It’s clear that Tatsuya’s life depends on your response. Luckily for him, there’s only one answer that you can give.

“I don’t suck cock,” you say and it’s only because Kita is grasping so tightly onto your jaw that you don’t physically turn your nose up at the suggestion of you getting on your knees.

But then something unexpected happens. The calm and carefully controlled expression on Kita’s face softens into something finally approaching fondness, a faint smile forming on the straight line of his lips.

“You will for me,” he promises and you raise a challenging eyebrow, even as your own grin begins to grow.

“I will?” you ask playfully and he nods.

“You will if ya wanna be good,” he’s kind enough to remind you and there’s a strange fluttering in your stomach that you’ve never experienced before.

“Yes, Shin-kun,” you smile, and despite barely having had any of the champagne that’s now spilled across the floor, you feel drunk.

You hardly wait for Kita to order his men to leave with a firm but impassive, “out,” before sliding from the couch and sinking to the floor between his parted legs. Your knees already ache from the unfamiliar sensation of resting against such a hard surface.

The weight of his hand on the back of your neck burns as you rub your cheek against the expensive fabric of the slacks covering his muscled thigh. As you reach for the buckle of his belt, you look up at him to find him watching you ravenously.

It absently occurs to you that throughout the entire evening, you never once heard him raise his voice. Even when he was brutally assaulting Tatsuya, he never seemed angry or bothered. No matter the situation, he remained unfazed.

But as you slide a hand inside of his pants to grip his half-hard cock through the soft material of his boxers, you can see it. Underneath his composed visage and mild temperament, burning bright in his shining and hungry eyes, is a dangerous flame — one that threatens to consume you and every inch of Tokyo in a devastating and all-consuming blaze.

Maybe Kita Shinsuke isn’t as boring as you thought.

#kita shinsuke #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kita x reader #kita shinsuke fanfic #kita shinsuke fic #kita fic #kita fanfic #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fic #mel writes #traditional values

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scribblecon · 1 month ago

Text

A Minor Fascination

The way I’m 100% convinced Fort Max would view a human the same way one might view a small animal. But he’d feel weird about it because humans are obviously sentient. Can’t treat one like a pet but they’re also so cute. This is kind of silly lol

SFW, Fluff, GN reader

—

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You’ve been feeling his optics on you, ever since you set foot in Swerve’s. Why, you wonder, is Fortress Maximus glaring at you from the other side of the room for the fourth time in as many days? You haven’t even had a chance to talk to him properly in the couple of weeks since he joined the crew, so what could you possibly have done to deserve the ire of arguably the largest and one of the most powerful autobots on the Lost Light?

Fortress Maximus feels like a fool. Ever since he took notice of the little human running around the ship, he’s wanted to introduce himself. Befriend the human, even. Unfortunately, he has no idea how. It’s difficult enough to converse with his fellow autobots when it seems half of them can’t stop gossiping about his recent traumas behind his back, how is he supposed to approach a squishy alien who barely reaches the top off his pedes without scaring, or worse, hurting them?

He’d never admit it out loud, but there’s something about your tiny form that Max finds highly endearing. He’s used to being surrounded by hard metal, but you look so soft and gentle. He wants to find out how it would feel to stroke your hair or gently run a servo down your back. To have you perch on his shoulder as he goes about his day.

As he gazes in your direction, he wonders if it’s normal for a mech to feel this way about organics. Max knows about the disgust reaction a good portion of Cybertronians have towards non-mechanical species, but there don’t seem to be many who openly talk about liking organics. Most others seem to be tolerant or indifferent towards them at best. If he’s weird for his… minor fascination, however, at least he’s probably not the only one on the ship. He’s seen other bots like Skids or Tailgate gently prod at your soft spots to elicit laughs out of you, or pick you up when you need to go somewhere faster than your own two legs can carry you. Hell, you’re practically draping yourself over Drift’s arm right now, and he doesn’t appear to mind at all. Fort Max downs his drink, his gaze never straying from you.

“If you want to talk to the human so badly, Max, just go over there and say hello.” Ratchet’s voice cuts through Fort Max’s thoughts, causing him to squeeze his glass so hard he accidentally shatters it in surprise. He curses to himself as he looks for something to wipe the remains of his engex off his servos.

“I don’t want to scare them. They’re so small…”

“No offence, but the way you’ve been staring for the last hour is already scaring half the people in this room.” The medic sighs. “Saying a couple words won’t hurt anyone.”

Fort Max sighs and gets up from his seat beside the bar. Ratchet has a point. May as well get it over with and introduce himself to you. He makes his way over to your table, doing his best to avoid looking intimidating.

You’re in the middle of telling Rodimus and Drift a horror story about the old retail job you used to work in high school when you realise Fortress Maximus has had enough of staring and is now walking towards you. Oh god. You try your best to look as relaxed as possible.

“Max!” Rodimus exclaims as the larger bot arrives at the table. “What’s up, big man?”

“I. Uh…”

The three of you look up at Fort Max expectantly.

“I just wanted to say hello.” He clears his intake. Several mechs are looking over to see what’s going on. “To the human.” Max reaches an oversized servo across the table towards you.

Ohhhh. He doesn’t hate you. He’s just awkward.

“It’s, um… it’s nice to meet you. Fortress Maximus, right?” You give him a shy smile as you get up to clasp his fingertip in both of your hands. You assume he’s reaching out for a handshake. Or at least the closest equivalent, considering the size difference. Maybe he’s actually really nice.

“Yeah, okay.” Max pulls away like you just electrocuted him and promptly leaves the bar with a strange look on his face.

You share a bewildered look with the bots around you.

“Did I do something wrong?”

—

Fortress Maximus sits in his habsuite, head in his hands, replaying his first interaction with the ship’s human.

Yeah, okay.

Yeah, okay??

Max stews in self-mortification. Who says that to someone when meeting for the first time? Primus, he didn’t even think to get your name. That was a disaster. Everyone was staring at him when he left the bar too, he could tell.

He contemplates the possibility that maybe he really does need to see Rung after all. Not because of what happened at Garrus-9, he’d rather not talk about that. But because he doesn’t know how to string a sentence together in front of an alien a fraction of his size. Because he couldn’t resist reaching out to feel your hair. Because when you intercepted his servo and turned his attempted petting into a handshake his circuits almost fried from the feel of your tiny hands and the way you looked up at him. Fortress Maximus promptly discards this train of thought. Talking about this with Rung means having to outright admit he thinks you’re cute to another bot. To a psychiatrist, no less. The last thing he needs is to be officially diagnosed as some kind of deviant over something that’s not even sexual. No. Max’s desires, he’s certain, are completely innocent. He just wants to pet you a little bit. Carry you around, keep you safe, feel how soft you are.

Maybe after that display in Swerve’s he should keep those thoughts to himself for now. Let you approach him first next time. Assuming you haven’t been completely scared off.

#macaddam #transformers x reader #transformers mtmte x reader #fortress maximus x reader #fortress maximus mtmte x reader

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carionto · 2 years ago

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What comes down, must go up

For the vast majority of tools, specialization is the way to go. From the smallest cooking utensils to intergalactic habitation stations, when it is designed from the core out with a specific purpose in mind, it will perform exceptionally well if you stick with the plan.

Most of Humanity does not appear to agree. Now, they certainly do have and use plenty of highly advanced tools that can only function in one way (their dinosaur research space station that recently oriented itself around a Deathworld being a prime example), but a surprising number of seemingly precision tools are used in a myriad of unconventional ways.

Like, we've seen a fork used as a makeshift holder for yarn spinning, as a fishing tool after some minor modifications (bending and tying to some string), as well as in a performance after adding these things they call googly eyes. Or the infinitely complex subatomic splitter whose sole purpose is to reduce an atom from one element to a smaller one in a non-explosive way - it uses concentrated light emitters to achieve this. One Human configured it into a tattoo device.

In fact, we suspect Humans deliberately attempt to find as many uses for a single tool as possible, even when, and sometimes because (out of spite, perhaps?), another tool that does that thing already exists.

Their spacecraft are no exception. Those behemoths might even be the focus of maximizing adaptability for as many scenarios as they can possibly think of.

For starters - ALL of them are rated for atmosphere entry and capable of FOUR TIMES Earth standard gravity lift off. Including their largest planned vessels yet - the Colony Ships. The SMALLEST design will be TWENTY EIGHT KILOMETERS LONG and average height/width of SIX KILOMETERS. And they themselves don't even know how big their biggest will be, they just said:

"Eh, whatever will feel right at the time."

As for why everything HAS to be able to land AND take off even though it literally at least triples the mass of each ship, necessitating what we view as a massive waste of resources:

"If the planet turns out to be kinda... meh, the colonists will be able to pack up and try again with the same ship. C'mon, gotta think ahead with these things."

Not only that, but we also learned most are able to SUBMERGE AND WITHSTAND A KPA OF 142'000! The military grade ones are even tougher than that! They could dip inside gas giants and not be torn apart!

Wait...

[scanning Jupiter]

Please no...

[confirmation beep]

OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE! THEY'RE HIDING INSIDE A STORM!

#humans are space orcs #humanity fuck yeah #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto

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best-of-yandere · 11 months ago

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Penny for your thought?

How do you think a yandere Dick Grayson would react if he ever found out that his s/o used to be an illegal street racer as a way of earning so.e quick cash?(From personal experience street raving pays a lot. The largest I ever won was about like $17,000)

NO MINORS 18+ ONLY

The answer to this differs slightly depending on whether you're already dating, or he has yet to approach you.

TW: surveillance, murder, yandere

Reaction when you guys are dating:

😱 <- this face, basically. Later, he'll wonder how you hid this from him for so long, sending him into a spiral trying to find the gap in his surveillance of you that allowed you to slip past him to do street racing. At the moment, though, he's panicking over how dangerous street racing is.

All the ways you could've died before he made you his, all the times you could've gotten arrested (taken from him), that you've been hanging around dangerous (to him, at least) people that could've hurt you - and this is where his delusion kicks in. Dick doesn't want to believe you'd purposely put yourself in danger, so he pins the blame on the other racers; telling himself that they forced you to race, to hide it from him, that they're trying to tear you two apart!

Since (in his mind) you're being forced to race, he arranges a bust on a night you're not there. Once the other racers are locked up, you'll be free! If this stops your racing, it'll end there, although Dick makes it his mission to prevent you from having any other secrets from him again. If you keep racing, however, he'll be forced to take drastic measures, and he'll kidnap you. In his mind, he's protecting you.

If you're not dating yet:

Also this face 😱. Because he's still in the surveillance stage of stalking you, he skips the spiraling since you weren't able to hide this from him. Instead, he skips right to forcing you to quit. Sabotaging your car so you'll come in last place, close calls with the police where they arrest all your racing friends, and you just barely get away; Dick is pulling out all the stops to get you to quit. If you keep racing, he'll be forced to do something drastic: he'll lure some lowlife criminal to the streets you're racing on, and have one of your friends crash into him, killing the criminal with you being able to see it happening.

He doesn't want to hurt you, but Dick is willing to do what (he thinks) is necessary to get you to stop such a dangerous past-time. And besides, it's not like Dick is the one who killed him, so he'd be in the clear with Batman (who also has his own darling, so he's more understanding of the family's...activities).

#yandere dc #yandere dick grayson #yandere dick grayson x reader #yandere dc x reader #x reader #yandere batman #yandere nightwing x reader #yandere nightwing #yandere x reader #sfw #my stuff #yandere

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themuseumofwitchcraftandpaganism · 5 months ago

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Did Christianity Steal From Paganism? Yes... No... It's Complicated. Part 1: Rome

Tis the season so I figured I'd talk about the topic that's been the subject of debate for a long time, most recently with the 2024 Olympics. I will be discussing the visual aspect of these religions, not the theological aspects.

Short answer: Yes

Long answer: No

Let's get into it: It took about a hundred years after the death of Christ for Christianity to start gaining popularity in the Roman Empire. At around 100 AD the first congregations secretly started meeting in basements and had to be very subtle with their worship. Being Christian at this time was a crime; they refused to pay the federal taxes that exalted the emperor as a god. At this point, after the Roman Emperor died, the Senate would vote to either add them to the pantheon or erase their legacy from public consciousness. Some emperors weren't very lucky but most of them got deified. The Christian citizens of Rome refused to offer sacrifices to the emperor because it broke the first of the Ten Commandments, "Thou shalt not have no other gods before me." There isn't much Christian art from this time, and they were definitely the religious minority.

Skip forward to 306 AD, there's yet another civil war over the throne of the Empire. The two men fighting for it were Constantine I and Maxentius. In addition to battles, the two of them funded public projects to gain the approval of the people. They both built baths, aqueducts, and basilicas. Basilicas were the Roman equivalent of city halls: the local government operated out of them, trials and town meetings were held there, and there were small niches in the walls dedicated to different gods. Maxentius built the basilica on the left (below) and Constantine built the one on the right (below). Constatine's basilica, Aula Palatina, is still the largest remaining Roman structure that's a single room.

Maxentius' basilica was bigger but in 310 AD Constatine beat him and took the throne, partly because of the support he got from the Christian citizens. In 312 AD, Constatine converted to Christianity and enacted the Edict of Milan which made Christianity legal.

But look at Aula Palatina. It looks like our modern idea of a church. It has rows of benches, which would've been used for town meetings, and a semicircular niche at the end called an apse. In a Christian church, the apse is where the altar goes just like the niches in the Roman Pagan basilicas where different gods would be worshiped. Constantine didn't change the design from a Pagan basilica at all --because why fix what isn't broken? -- and just placed it into a Christian context.

For the next hundred years, Roman citizens started to mix Christian and Pagan imagery.

Families would bury both Christian and Pagan members in the same catacomb and decorated it accordingly. The fresco below (320-340 AD) is from the Catacombs of Priscilla (200-400 AD). It has an image of Christ as the Good Shepard in the middle, but the birds along the outside represent the four seasons; an image that featured commonly in Pagan catacomb frescos. Christ's clothing and contrapposto posing is also reminiscent of Pagan statues, particularly of the god Apollo.

The fresco on the left (below) from the Catacombs of Saints Marcellinus and Peter (~300 AD), is visually similar to the last one fresco we looked at. Christ is in the middle and around him are the four Evangelists and Bible stories like Jonah and the whale. In the four corners again, there are personifications of the four seasons. Elsewhere in the Catacomb, there's a depiction of Christ as Orpheus (right, below), again combining these Pagan and Christian icons. In the Bible, it says that Christ will tame all the wild animals, and the artist is likening that to the Roman Pagan story of Orpheus taming animals with his music.

If you look at the middle of this complex fresco on the left (below) from the Catacomb of Commodilla (100-800 AD), it has a depiction of Jesus and three of the apostles dressed like Roman senators (300-400 AD). On the right is a depiction of St. Paul as a Roman philosopher from the same Catacomb.

But this interest in combining artistic traditions extended to the sarcophagi that people were buried in too. Roman Pagans usually opted to be cremated rather than buried but when they did choose to be buried, they liked to carve scenes of their gods into their sarcophagi. Roman Christians, who almost always chose to be buried, did the same. The sarcophagus on the left (below) belonged to a woman named Arria (b.~350 -- d.~400 AD) and depicts a story about the Roman Pagan moon goddess Selene. The one on the right (below) belonged to a Senator named Junius Bassus (b. 317 -- d.359 AD) depicts difference scenes from the Bible like Adam and Eve and Jesus entering Jerusalem. Do you see the visual similarities? Both sarcophagi are also carved from marble.

The mosaic below is perhaps the best example of how Christian and Pagan imagery and theologies were mixed. It used to be the floor in a wealthy Roman's villa and was found in Hinton St Mary, Dorset, England; it's the furthest north Roman mosaic ever found. The bottom panel depicts a beardless Christ with a chi-rho behind his head. (The chi-rho, XP, came from the first two letters of Christ's name in Latin. It's a Christian symbol that's still used to denote that a figure is Christ.) On either side of him is a pomegranate. Pomegranates were sacred to the goddess Persephone; Roman Pagan religion taught that she went down to the Underworld for half the year and then up to the mortal world for half the year, fueling the changing seasons. Persephone and Christ are both gods that went to the afterlife and then came back to bring new life to humans; it's not hard to see how they got conflated on this mosaic. In the corners around Christ there are four men. Their imagery is reminiscent of both the four Evangelists and the gods of the four winds, again doubling Pagan and Christian imagery. In the upper panel, there's a scene portraying the Pagan story of Bellerophon spearing the Chimæra while flying on Pegasus. That story is frequently understood to be the "Good triumphing over Evil" story archetype, much like the story of Christ triumphing over death/sin is. Whoever owned this villa literally mixing both the visual and theological elements of both Paganism and Christianity.

In the late 300s, the Emperors (who were all Christian now) started introducing laws that made it harder for Pagans to practice. They banned animal sacrifices eventually Christianity was officially declared the religion of Rome in the late 400s. However, the enforcement of these laws wasn't applied very well and people continued to practice Roman Paganism until the fall of the Empire.

But even after the fall of Rome, Roman Pagan imagery persisted in a Christian context. In the West, Emperor Charlemagne of the Holy Roman Empire, which was Christian, purposely copied the imagery of the Roman Emperors. He used equestrian statues and coinage of him wearing a Roman laurel to demonstrate his power. The top two images below are of the Chrisitan Emperor Charlemagne and the bottom two are of the Pagan Emperor Marcus Aurelius.

In the East, the early Byzantine Empire were still interested in Roman drapery and architecture. Below is Archangel Michael (left) as well as Emperor Justinian and Theodora (right) preparing the Eucharist. Both images display Roman architecture and drapery. Byzantine would eventually move away from Roman influences but in its early days, they were definitely inspired by it.

So, the answer everyone is looking for is NO.

The Christians didn't steal anything from the Pagans, they made an association. They produced art in the style that was popular and followed the artistic trends of the time. Christian and Pagan imagery was produced in the same medium and combined until Paganism was phased out over hundreds of years. They saw similar gods and iconography and combined them to make a message that was understandable to all audiences.

Happy Yule! Happy Winter Solstice!

Further readings:

The Deification of Roman Emperors (Chapter 4) - Invented History, Fabricated Power

BBC - History - Ancient History in depth: Roman Religion GalleryThe Paleochristian Art of the Roman Catacombs ~ Liturgical Arts Journal

Chi Rho - Wikipedia

History of Christianity - Wikipedia

Anglicanism: a Gift in Christ – Part 1: An Ancient Church

Constantine the Great - Wikipedia

Maxentius - Wikipedia

Sarcophagus of Junius Bassus - Wikipedia

Marble sarcophagus with the myth of Selene and Endymion | Roman | Severan | The Metropolitan Museum of Art

Smarthistory – Equestrian Statue of Marcus Aurelius

Persecution of pagans in the late Roman Empire - Wikipedia

Equestrian statuette of Charlemagne - Wikipedia

Smarthistory – San Vitale and the Justinian and Theodora Mosaics

ARH1000 Early Christian & Byzantine Art.pdf | Free Download

The image of Christ in Late Antiquity | Semantic Scholar

mosaic floor | British Museum

#i tried to include both academic and general further readings #this is very simplified bc i'm trying to give a general overview #ancient art #paganism #paganblr #pagan witch #pagan #ancient rome #christianity #yule #yuletide #history #jesus #jesus christ #persephone #selene #the evangelists #artist talk #winter solstice

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edenfenixblogs · 1 year ago

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I think that I’ve realized one of the big reasons that antisemites are so anti-Israel—I mean, aside from it being a state where a lot of Jews are.

Israel is a state that protects Jews. It also does a lot of bad things under the Likud government. And it also harms Jews that get in the way of the Likud government. But none of that matters to antisemites.

Because a state is an institution. And the left has been very clear that it’s all about criticizing institutions.

And in the absence of a governing religious body to criticize, the Israeli state is all the leftist antisemites have to criticize.

They can’t seem to fathom that the leadership of Israel is not in anyway synonymous with a religious institution. They cannot seem to fathom that the Likud government isn’t in any way representative of Jewish people as a whole—and not even of Israelis as a whole! (Once again, Israel is a parliamentary system. It’s about who has the largest proportion of votes, not a majority) and that Jews in Israel as well as non-Jews in Israel have a say in who to vote for and often strongly oppose Likud and Netanyahu.

It’s like a whole chunk of otherwise progressive people have been waiting for a way to criticize all Jews by attacking some institution they think speaks for us.

They cannot fathom that we are literally just a small ethnic group with half of our number in one location and would very much like for us and for them to not be victims of violence. That’s the uniting principle.

They’ve continually demonstrated how little they know and understand about Judaism, Jewish culture, and Jewish history.

I genuinely do not know if they’re aware that there’s no supreme Jewish council or whatever. There’s no Jewish version of the Grand Imam, Grand Ayatollah, Dalai Lama, Celestial Master, or Head/President of the Church.

We don’t even have a main synagogue from which edicts or traditions flow. We did have one. The Wall in Israel was our main institution. But colonizers and invaders destroyed it. And other religions built their institutions on top of it. And the religious governing body of Jews fell apart thousands of years ago.

…so the only thing that holds us together is each other. Rabbis don’t answer to some central authority. We hold traditions together through culture and traditions and connection to our land of origin, like many our even most other indigenous cultures.

But, because there is one (1) place on the entire planet where Jews are a majority of the population and not a minority, suddenly vicious attacks on the character of Jews everywhere are fair game as long as antisemites pretend they are talking about “Israel.” But they aren’t talking about the State of Israel. Because they get mad whenever we tell them to please specify the current government and the Likud party, because they are the ones responsible for carrying out the needless violence.

But they won’t do that. They seem to believe that there is some uniting religious force that exists in the Israeli government. And they seem to think that we are all united by this religious directive of “Zionism.”

That’s the only way any of their criticisms make sense logically. They don’t see themselves as attacking actual humans. They see themselves as attacking institutions. And any Jew who disagrees with them? Well they are just bastards supporting the institution.

But…there is no supreme Jewish institution. It doesn’t exist. It doesn’t exist because they destroyed those institutions.

They’re making themselves feel good by thinking attacking Jews is somehow helping free Palestine. But it’s just attacking Jews.

It’s like a weird continuation of supercessionism. They’re projecting their religious structure onto a religion that is fundamentally incompatible with that structure.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #supercessionism #jumblr

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dailyrothko · 8 months ago

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Do you have any recommendations for books with large, high quality photos of Rothko's work? I'd love to be able to see some outside the small confines of a computer monitor/phone screen but can't exactly afford a visit to the chapel

If you're on Instagram, I have a short video about this but I will tell you basically here.

The best reproductions by far are from the recent books published in the last year or two. This has to do with the Rothko family making things available and the curation of large exhibits.

The smallest book in size is the Mark Rothko: Paintings on Paper by Adam Greenhalgh is 8 3/4 by 10 3/4. This book covers just the works from the paper show (Nearly 100) and a bunch of interesting history of his work in this medium. It's a great book and the size seems just fine given that the paintings on paper are smaller anyway. It's worth having this and the book not high priced, but you're getting a sharply focused aspect of Rothko's work rather than all the famous ones. It's a lovely book though. The scans are excellent and it's likely to give you a different perspective on his work.

The Next book is the Louis Vuitton Foundation book that accompanied the show. It's physically the largest book, roughly 11.42 by 13. 32 inches. The size here helps the bigger works some of which are even foldouts. You can see the great devotion to the task in all of these books but this book contains the most historical stuff and anecdotes and is full of interesting material. The show was curated by Susan Page and Christopher Rothko and you can see a lot of effort went into it. This is the most complete of the books, in terms of a career retrospective and is fascinating. It's 312 pages, a big, heavy book. Scans are again very good. If you don't much about Rothko this is probably the book for you, but one could say in centers most on his big oil on canvas works.

The final book is the Rizzoli "Rothko book" credited to his children Kate and Christopher. This is over 400 pages and the most expensive book but it's a very personal and unique document. Rather than the usual history it has essays including one from Hiroshi Sugimoto, that I really enjoyed. The paintings are a mix, more of a selected group as the book doesn't cover a particular show. The scans here might be the best (even though all the books have really great scans) because they really reveal aspects of the paintings that are different than what we are used to seeing all the time. They reveal more subtly. Some paintings are absolutely revelatory, so much so that I use this book as my reference for how other scans reproduce color. This is a dodgy thing because color depends on light and scans are somewhat of an artistic endeavor. This book is a trifle less wide than the Vuitton book but it's big and has a nice slipcase too.

I have seen in person many of the paintings in these books and occasionally I "Disagree" a little with a scan here and there but it's a minor quibble as Rothko just looks different in different places. There's really a lot of work and love in all of these and they all are so much better than what we have seen before it would be hard to go wrong with any of them. These are not cheap calendar type repos, a great amount of time and effort went into all of them.

If you have further questions I am happy to help.

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #colorfield painting #mid century #rothko info #rothko books #questions #FAQ

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ash5monster01 · 1 year ago

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Learning to Love Part 7

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x FemReader!PlusSize

Warnings: 18+, langauge, angst, fluff, mentions of bullying, body image issues, fat shaming, fake relationship, eventual smut, minor enemies to lovers trope.

Summary: It's not uncommon for you to be shamed for your size, it is however uncommon to be told that no one would ever date you because of it. Rafe on the other hand is used to being called a jerk, that is until he is accused of seeing people for only what's on the surface. It's purely coicidental you two meet right after these accusations are thrown your way. So even though you two don't know each other, and probably never would've looked the others way before this, now you're both going to prove a point. It's simple really, prove others wrong and don't fall in love. Easier said than done.

word count: 3.5k

Part 6 ←→ Part 8

Masterlist

When you agreed to drive Rafe to work you hadn't expected for him to drag you inside. Especially since you were still wearing your bar clothes, jeans that would reek of tequila by the end of the night, and a T-shirt that acted as a spare rag half the time. Now your fingers were interlocked with Rafe’s, in a grey suit as he marches through his building full of other suits and pencil skirts. Add on the fact everyone looks on with confusion, shocked to see someone like you walking in with their sexy as hell boss. You knew most of the women fantasized about him taking them over his desk and the image alone sent a chill down your spine. Rafe looks to you with confusion and you just offer a smile as if you weren't just picturing him having his way with you.

"Hey, long time no see" AJ beams at you two when you reach the top floor and you offer a sweet smile even though you entirely resent her for being one of those girls that could easily have Rafe on his desk if she wanted.

"AJ, I'm taking the rest of the day to spend with my girl. Make sure Matt and Levi don't start a game of strip poker again" and she nods with a salute that has you snorting in laughter over the fact that even happened once before.

"It was one time at an employee party" a man you assume is Matt calls out from a corner office and Rafe rolls his eyes as he leads you to his own office.

"Kaitlyn, hold my calls and cancel my meetings for the rest of the day. I'm taking some personal time" Rafe says to the prettiest brunette girl you've ever seen with the brightest green eyes. Kaitlyn nods and starts typing away at her computer like she was trained to obey every order. Then Rafe was guiding you through large double doors that revealed the largest office you've ever seen. You stare in awe as he shuts the doors behind you and the click of them shutting closed is enough to make you jump.

"What's wrong?" he asks, spotting how just closing the door suddenly made you nervous.

"Do you know what they think we're doing?" you whisper and he looks confused until he spots the bright pink hue flooding your cheeks.

"Oh" is all he says and you chuckle, unable to look him in the eye which he finds entirely too cute.

“And how do you know this?” he asks as he approaches his desk.

“Come on, it’s like every book cliche ever. Girl dates important guy, guy bends girl over his desk, tale as old as time” you say confidently and it’s only until his eyebrows raise towards you that the confidence deters.

“Are you admitting to me that you read dirty books?” he asks and your neck burns with embarrassment.

“I’m just saying” you pout and he laughs as he sits behind the desk and begins to type at his computer.

“There’s just one thing I have to finish up before I play hookie with you all day, that’s why I didn’t want you to wait in the car” he explains and you nod quickly as you allow him time to work.

Thing is, you’re impatient. Which Rafe notices quickly when you sit at the chair in front of his desk and won’t stop bouncing your leg. It takes you not much longer after that to stand and start observing the room. Looking at the shelves and pictures on the walls. It was only a few emails he had to send, confirm a few projects, but now he was finding it hard to pay attention with you walking around all pretty and staring at his office with awe. You study the room like you're studying him, trying to fit puzzle pieces into the mystery that Rafe Cameron is. Yet even his office, a place that should be so intimate to him, is still just as bland as his home. Lacking warmth, evidence of a life, hiding everything underneath the surface.

"You like that one?" his voice pierces through the silence and you almost jump again as you look away from the abstract painting on the wall. To someone else it seems like it's just various colors, swirled around and claimed as art, but you see it. The curve of a larger girls shilouette, the hip dips and heavy stomach and breasts. She's there but hidden within a sea of beautiful colors. It deep, beautiful, and entirely too intimate. "It's new"

"It's beautiful" you try not to tear up, because surely Rafe Cameron is like the rest of the world. Blind to something so beautiful hidden within. It was probably bought for its colors and the beautiful swirls that fill the canvas and not for the shape of a woman hidden inside who just wants to be seen for more than what's on the surface.

"It made me think of you" your breath hitches almost instantly, trying not to take his words with as much meaning as the painting had put over you.

"Not much of a picture guy then, huh?" you want to act entirely normal about what he just said but how can you. He had dropped a bomb and you weren't sure how to diffuse it. It all depended on what Rafe saw when he looked at that picture. If he saw the colors or you.

"Don't really have people worth taking pictures with" Rafe says, a small scowl on his face. You know it isn't entirely true but for Rafe all the pictures from his past held reminders. Reminders of ruined families and friendships all for something obselite now.

"Well that's to bad Cameron because I'm gonna take a picture of us and frame it for this exact office, put it right next to that computer of yours so you see it all day long" You tease and Rafe chuckles lightly, looking much happier now.

"That's probably not a good idea, I'd be looking at you more than doing my work" the compliment bubbles in your stomach, settling and warming you over, but you move past it like you always do.

"To bad, we're taking one" you say and he laughs before gesturing you over which makes you furrow your eyebrows.

"You want to take it now?" you ask and he nods, patting his lap like it's the most natural thing in the world for you to come over and sit on him.

"Yeah, have a picture of us in my office in my office" he says and you snort lightly, walking towards him while trying to ignore your nerves.

"How breaking the fourth wall of us" you say as his hand lands on your waist and guides you to sit on him. You try your best to keep your weight off of him as much as possible but he pulls you to him before you can even try. You land on his lap as his arms snake around your waist and chin lands on your shoulder.

"Okay baby, take the picture while I still look good" he teases and you roll your eyes as you grab your phone and open the camera app.

"You always look good Rafe" you say and your ears burn red instantly. Rafe grins and presses a kiss to your shoulder, not saying more to make sure he doesn't embarass you further. Even if he likes it when you get all flustered. "All right, smile"

An easy smile crosses Rafe's face as you hold the phone up and try to take a picture of you two. Yet when your thumb meets the button he's kissing your cheek, breath fanning over your neck. You giggle instantly hand clicking more than just one picture, the two of you laughing with each other. It feels all to real and you hate how much you've come to like the boy underneath you. Saying goodbye will be all that much harder the more you keep getting close like this.

“You have to be smiling normal for at least one" you tell him with a pout and he smiles at you before nodding.

"Okay baby, one more" he tells you and this time he obeys, easy smile on his face as he squeezes you close, foreheads leaned against each other. For a moment you look like a real couple, two people just happy to be together. It warms you over as you drop the phone and go to look at the few pictures you had managed to get. Rafe watches over your shoulder, holding you close and not letting you go.

"You ruined almost every one" you say and he shakes his head, looking at that beaming smile on your face as his kisses you and not the fake one you normally wore.

"No I didn't, they're perfect. I want that one" he says pointing at it and you roll your eyes, trying to avoid the saying that lays on the tip of your tongue anytime you look at a picture of yourself. I look fat you want to say, eyes catching the slight double chin from your beaming laugh. You're unposed, unaware of the way your body looks so big compared to his.

"I look... I don't look good" you try to convey, avoid looking at him and you feel him sigh against you.

"You always look good, especially in that picture" he tells you, hands squeezing your waist. It should be a sentimental moment but his hands make you jump and Rafe realizes fairly quickly that he has just tickled you. Even though there is other parts of him affected by you bouncing on his lap he can't help but grin and start digging his fingers into you. You squeal instantly, toppling against him and trying to lean away but Rafe holds you close, laughing as you cry out for him to stop. Your both to caught up in eachother you miss the knock and open of the door to his office.

"Sorry to interupt Mr. Cameron" you both freeze, hazy smiles left on your faces as you see Kaitlyn in the doorway.

"What's up Kait?" he asks, a small huff to his breath from how he was just tickling you. You should feel weird to be sitting on his lap as his employees speak to him but you’re still trying to get your heart rate back to a normal pace.

"I just wanted to let you know I've cleared your schedule and sent over those files from yesterday that you needed reviewed. I can do the next pile if you need" she says, a small pink hue to her cheeks for having caught the two of you giggling like lovesick teenagers.

"That would be great Kaitlyn, me and my girl we're just heading out here. The stack is where it always is and you have a good rest of the day" you blush deeply when Rafe pats your bottom, indicating you stand up so the two of you can leave. You watch as he readies himself and then locks his arm around your waist to guide you out the door. You give Kaitlyn a small wave as he walks you back through the office, head high, and proud that you're the girl he has his arm wrapped around.

When you reach his apartment you make yourself comfy. You had planned to work all day, distract yourself from feelings for Rafe but look how far that had gotten you. So you sit on his couch, clicking through Netflix in search of a good movie, something to get his mind off of things. You’re still not entirely sure of what kind of movies he likes so it’s proven to be pointless, mindless clicking, until he returns to the living room in leisure wear and falling next to you on the couch.

“What do you want to watch?” you ask as his head lays on your lap, looking up to face you. You’re certain you’re unflattering from this angle but caring about things like that had been proven pointless with Rafe.

“I’m good with anything, I don’t really watch movies” you’re shocked to hear this, considering when most girls were out on dates you were at home watching the latest film and enjoying every second.

“So you’re telling me you haven’t watched the classics?” you ask and he shrugs against you.

“I’ve seen the Godfather once and that was about it” you shake your head at him, saddened to hear your fake boyfriend hasn’t watched at least the required films of any human beings on this earth. So you set off on a hunt, trying to find the perfect film, going through almost every streaming service, until you find the one.

“Here we go” you mutter to no one in particular as you hit play and Rafe furrow his eyebrows as he looks at the screen.

“Dirty Dancing” he pouts and you can see the crease in his brow from where he lays on you.

“Oh don’t be a boy about it, watch it like a man” you tell him and he chuckles before rolling to his side and getting cozy on your lap. From where you sit you can’t see Rafe’s reaction and as much as he’s enjoying the movie he’s enjoying you whispering the lines behind him, knowing what song was next, and most of all the way your legs shifted underneath him when the characters truly dirty danced. His hand had come to caress your leg as the movie progressed, unable to stop himself and you took that as an invitation to run your hands through his hair.

Finally it had reached the scene where Baby goes to Johnny’s cabin and admits her feelings, Rafe knows this is an important part by the way your hand freezes against his head. The music starts as Baby and Johnny start undressing each other, your breathing has become uneven, and based on the glance Rafe dared to take you look wrecked for a girl who has had nothing happen to her. He waits patiently as the two characters begin to get intimate and once the scene is over he takes a chance and hits pause.

“Hey” you mutter softly, voice hoarse and eyes still semi glued to the screen. Rafe rolls onto his back, looking up at you as your hand that was in his hair falls to his chest.

“Can I ask you a deeply personal question and you answer me honestly without freezing up?” his sentence makes your heart accelerate as you look at him. You take a moment to catch your breath before answering him.

“Sure” you know you shouldn’t of said it but you’ve crossed personal lines with Rafe that you had never expected to and soon he won’t be a part of your life anymore, no harm in being vulnerable if it’s guaranteed you never have to see him again.

“Have you, ever done stuff?” you’re confused by the question until it suddenly dawns on you what he’s asking. Your silence instantly makes him feel guilty. “It’s just the whole thing with the hickey and no intimacy rule. Then the way you’re reacting to that scene, it’s just. I don’t know”

“I’ve never” you whisper, unable to look into his eyes. Regret swirls in a pit in your stomach. “I want to. I want to trust someone so deeply that I can but how can I? Everywhere I go people look at me like something wretched and if they’re daring enough they’ll say things loud enough for me to hear. I’ve been told how repulsive I am for years because of my size, seen it movies, watched it in real life. It would break me beyond repair if I undressed in front of someone like y- someone and they decided they didn’t want me”

“Hey, you are not repulsive. You are so beautiful, every piece of you” Rafe tells you and you shake your head, looking away to hide the tears that rim your eyes.

“I wish I could believe that” you whisper, not even for him to hear because the worst thing about compliments was the fact you could never actually believe them.

“Hey, look at me” Rafe says as he sits up, pulling you to face him. You accept defeat as you turn and lock your eyes onto his own. “You are perfect the way you are. I would never lie to you about that and any guy would be stupid to walk away from a beautiful woman that is naked for him”

“I just panic Rafe, as much as I try to fight it and push it away. I can’t” you mutter, lip trembling and a tear falling loose. Rafe feels bad for bringing it up but he reaches to brush the tear away anyway. He wishes he could find the right thing to say, to convince you that you were just as good if not better than anyone else. To tell you how much he is attracted to you. Yet he can’t do it. You’d never believe him and in the end this is all fake. You’re going to leave him just like everyone else and he isn’t prepared to lose you by messing this all up.

“It’ll get easier, one day you’ll meet someone you trust more than anything and you won’t even remember ever feeling like this” Rafe says it because he knows it’s true. He was convinced he’d never really love someone, trust them entirely, that is until he met you.

You take a moment to respond to him. He has no idea he has just broken your heart in two. Meet someone, not him, which means he didn’t want anything to do with you. This whole time you had been catching feelings for a boy you made a rule with not to. Maybe when you made the rule you’d hoped he’d be the one to break it but of course it was you. He was just another boy to add to the long list of crushes who would never ever be attracted to you. So you decide you’re no longer going to be weak in front of Rafe Cameron. What’s the point if he just proves he could never love you?

“In order to meet someone Rafe this will have to end” you don’t want to say it. There’s really no point. You know you won’t meet someone and ending this will only sadden you more for having to let him go. Rafe stiffens beside you and you feel guilty almost instantly.

“I know” he says quietly and you swear you almost hear the heartbreak in his voice but that can’t be true. Rafe will have proven his point, he can go back to girls like AJ, and live a life without being bullied for only liking supermodel women. You will go back to failed relationships and being unable to trust your partner.

“Listen it doesn’t have to be now-” but the shaking of Rafe’s head has you swallowing your words. Is he about to end it right now? Had you said too much?

“It can be, look our worlds don’t intermingle often. So if someone at the bar flirts with you or asks you out, you’re welcome to say yes. We can keep pretending but if you find something serious we can end it” Rafe tells you and you fight the new tears that are burning at the back of your eyes. It’s kind but it means it won’t ever be him.

“I guess the same goes for you. Someone at the office or whatever” you say, your voice slightly cracking at the end and you pray he doesn’t notice.

“I guess this had to end at some point” Rafe shrugs and you wish he was just as sad as you. You had gotten close and pretty soon he would become just a stranger again. You didn’t want him to be. He had become so much more.

“True but we still have some time” you say to which he nods, knowing it wasn’t over just yet. For some reason it felt like it though. He just had no idea how he could make you believe that he loved you.

“Exactly which if you’re free Saturday night I have another work event. Rooftop with a pool and open bar” Rafe suggests and you giggle lightly, relishing in the fact that the same boy who had upset you was the only one who could cheer you up too.

“Well how can I say no to that?” you say as a smile cracks across Rafe’s face before he lays back down and into your lap.

“Hey, what do you say we finish this movie then order some pizza?” he says and you nod, heart heavy with the goodbye bound to come but full of love for the boy in front of you.

“Sounds perfect”

a/n: I’m not sure when the next update will be out considering the Holidays but for now please enjoy. I rewrote this chapter about three times and they’re all entirely different versions but I feel like I like this one best. I want this story to take the best course that is possible. Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed so far. I wanted to put this out before tomorrow because tomorrow is my birthday and I’ll be far too busy to be writing! We’re about halfway through folks!

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @fishingirl12 @houseofperfecttaste @abbybarnesstuff @carma-fanficaddict @jjmaybankisbae @exhaustedbutelated @diagnosedpsychosis @daivny @drewstarkeygf @vinniehackersbaee @emsgoodthinkin @apollo3475 @https-urwife @willowalexissss @kisstaya @hcneyedsstuff @lexiereblogs @drewsuncrustables @mveggieburger @marvel4life3000 @bibliophilewednesday @humungouspatrolwolf @ijustwanttoreadlols @jaijustreads @sleepjam @dilvcv @aaronhotchswife @sunshine1218 @lavenderhazeq @theultimatefrenchfangirl @kravitzwhore @chalahyung01

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justaneedle · 3 months ago

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Hey! Hope you don't mind me reaching out!

I don't know if you read PJO fanfiction but after getting to know Luke better as a character, I look back at the previous fanfics I have read and there are certain things I don't enjoy as much. I don't know if I am going crazy...but it almost seems like either Rick and/or the fandom wants Percy to be the better Luke or something? Let me try to explain:

Camp mom Percy

My first fic under this tag was a post TOA fic. It's popular in Perpollo - kind of a cute thing for cabin 7 to see Percy as a "mom" figure. But basically, Percy becomes the parental figure at camp. But wasn't Luke kind of this figure?? He was in charge of the largest cabin and a lot of people looked up to him. Plus, Luke had serious paternal vibes as a 14 year old kid. As cute as Percy became with Nico, he initially saw Nico as an annoyance while Luke practically adopted Annabeth after she tried to kill him with a hammer. Not to mention that Percy has a loving home life away from camp - unlike Luke. He's not a year-rounder like Luke way. Like people died in the battles and Percy didn't even know their freaking names! He's literally not close to a lot of kids. I used to like this trope but now I find it bizarre.

Pretty boy Percy

My first ever Percy fic had this tag. I swore I had reblogged a post which showed all the characters who found Percy attractive but I can't find it. BUT! I do know there are people who don't find Percy impressive or attractive. Meanwhile, demigods to nymphs to monsters found Luke attractive. With the scar to boot. Percy compared Luke to Apollo, the embodiment of male beauty. Damn, May must have been a beautiful woman. I don't see Apollo kids being described as this gorgeous.

Best swordsman

I love Percy being OP in fanfiction but not in canon. Anyway, it gets a bit tiring seeing people say that 12 year old Percy was almost as good or as good as Luke, a grown ass young adult. Luke once again was a year rounder who has years of training under his belt at camp and from being on the run. Percy was out of practice in book 2. I can buy Percy being better than Luke as he got older but I struggle to understand why people are so quick to hand over Luke's swordsman accomplishment to Percy. I love the Jason vs Percy memes as much as the next person but in reality Percy should not be as good as Luke (or even Jason honestly).

Advocate of demigods

As I read more of the books, I am really finding that Olympus scene in TLO more lacklustre. Percy doesn't care about the kids of minor gods until the 11th hour when Ethan dies. Even then, Percy doesn't think about Ethan again until he makes the promise to Luke. The camp is recruiting more demigods for canon fodder in book 3 and Percy offers no meaningful commentary on this. Percy is in a privileged position (arguably) of being the son of a big three god. Percy never had to deal with the struggles of being in an overcrowded cabin for long. Also he has a loving home so he's not forced to endure the struggles of camp 24/7. Luke...sometimes I don't know. It feels like his primary reason for fighting is because of his fractured relationship with Hermes and the demigod struggles just added fuel to the fire of his hate towards the gods. That's the vibe I get when I read the Diary of Luke Castellan and his scenes in the other books. But I feel like Percy would have continued in the status quo if the war never happened. He spoke to Hermes multiple times and not once could he drop a small mention of the state of the cabin?? I honestly wonder what Percy would have done if it wasn't for Luke's final wish.

Overthrowing Olympus

I haven't read any fics for this but I have seen fics where Percy and his friends claim Olympus. With the pointed fact that all the demigods support Percy and Percy is mega powerful so innocent lives aren't lost. Even the fics where Percy rants and scolds the gods like they are naughty children or outright curses them out, knowing full well they can't/won't touch him because he has Poseidon's backing. Like the hypocrisy is off the charts. It's ok when Percy wants to destroy the gods but not Luke? I think people who write fanfics like this tend to be Luke sympathetic but it's beginning to rub me the wrong way. I am trying to find something where Luke does overthrow the gods by working with minor gods or other titans. It just seems like another thing fandom wants to take away from Luke and give to Percy.

Sorry for this essay! I just wanted to hear someone else's thoughts. I feel like I am overthinking things :(

For the most part I personally haven't encountered such fanfiction, because the fandom caused me to be repulsing from Percy outright and I just deliberately avoiding fanfiction with Percy at the center (I'm stuck with Luke-centric fanfics or with those authors where I know for sure that Percy won't piss me off, even if I don't share their love for him). But I heard about all these things from others in the fandom/saw it in the sum of fanfiction/read it whole years ago, when I was still very small (it was an interesting time, I also liked percabeth back then).

I can say that a lot of this is based on what Rick was doing, writing Percy out as a clear Marty Sue, but for the most part it's just the fandom and their unhealthy love for Percy.

Rick: makes Percy a cool swordsman with a direct comparison to Luke, while clearly showing that it's stupidly innate (fighting the Minotaur just from scratch, without any understanding of how to hold a sword, boost from water in TLT and literally the whole "he son of Poseidon, so..." in the BOTL) and without giving any hints about other training (Luke is still the first and only one who taught Percy something).

Swordplay had always been my strength. People said I was better at it than any camper in the last hundred years, except maybe Luke. People always compared me to Luke. — the SOM.

But yes, it's interesting how people embrace Percy's obvious and eye-popping Marty Sue(ish). One literally tried to prove to me that Percy is canonically stronger than Luke, because, attention: Thalia defeated Luke in TTC —> it is further mentioned that Percy is stronger than Thalia (where?) —> Percy >> Luke.

The fact that Luke was in a terrible physical and mental state at the TTC/hardly meant to really harm Thalia, considering that a moment ago he pleaded her to join him + the fact that Thalia had an Aegis that the damn Ladon was afraid of was somehow forgotten.

Percy's prettiness is just complete bullshit (not in the way that it can't be), because, again, the fandom has this unhealthy urge to compare him to Luke, while belittling him. Because to be completely honest, they are at least equal. However, I do not remember that Percy had monsters simping over him—

@my-pjo-stuff has said enough about the overthrow of Olympus — the fandom are just hypocrites with an absolute lack of understanding that a revolution without collateral damage, taking into account the general disunity of the demigods, is impossible. I haven't read such fanfiction, so I can't say for sure, but do they at least mention demigods who would try to stop Percy and what happens to them because of this? Because there should be such things (literally PJO is all about it).

Camp mom Percy is literally the biggest piece of shit I've ever seen (which, again, for some reason, encroaches specifically on Luke), simply because there isn't even a single hint of it. As you mentioned, just the opposite is true — Percy doesn't actually have a cabin where he can look after someone (wasted potential), he doesn't spend enough time there, and most importantly, Rick even show us that he doesn't know most of the demigods there, let alone has no close friends.

Well, the thing that you didn't mention, but it tears off a part of me every time, is the pseudo love triangle with Percy, Annabeth, and Luke. The fact that Rick used for this character, who on paper calls Annabeth literally "sister" and "daughter" and the culmination of the entire series is "FAMILY, Luke" with repeated references to the time when Annabeth was in the status of "daughter", not even "sister" yet, causes me feel like throwing something heavier at Rick (and I'm saying this as lukabeth shipper here). But the fandom takes this shit to a whole other level.

So no, you're not overthinking.

#ask #anti pjo fandom #anti rr #fandom bullshit #pjo fandom bs #percy jackson #luke castellan #anti perseus jackson #in some way #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians

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